The Cost of Divorce
by JustJeanette
Summary: An NCIS agent, a Baltimore detective, a Sentinel, a Guide, a serial killer. What more do you need? This is my take on how Tony Dinozzo joined NCIS. J/B, J/G, Gibbs/DiNozzo preslash. Crossover: NCIS/Sentinel. Ch 14: Case details & M/M loving. :D
1. Chapter 1

**The Cost of Divorce**

Rating: FRT

Pairing: Jim/Blair: Established relationship. Jim/Gibbs: Past Relationship. Gibbs/DiNozzo pre-slash.

Summary: An NCIS agent, a Baltimore detective, a Sentinel, a Guide, a serial killer. What more do you need?

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from the TV-shows "NCIS" and "The Sentinel". NCIS is created and owned by David P. Bellisarius and CBS. The Sentinel still belong to Paramount and Pet Fly. I'm just playing No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Beta'd by: Kyria and Annie and Artemis Arrow... Any mistakes left are mine.

For: Ree/Triskellion... she knows why and thanks again

Special thanks to Artemis Arrow

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter One.

The blue sedan that screeched to a halt was obviously Government. The silver-haired man that exited the vehicle was military or ex-military. Either way, one look at the expression on the man's face had the two uniformed officers guarding the scene deciding that discretion was the better part of survival. One of the dead was Navy; thus Silver hair was likely a Navy cop, and dealing with someone who looked that pissed was _way_ outside their pay scale. They'd let the detectives handle Silver Hair; they'd just make sure no one _else_ wandered onto the scene.

Silver hair, also known as Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, senior case agent, NCIS, was not a happy man. He'd been planning on working on his boat; the first real break in over two weeks, when he'd been summarily sent to Baltimore. A dead lieutenant and all other teams already dealing with fresh cases meant that Gibbs, solo since Burley's re-assignment, was called in. Armed with only the sketchiest of details, no Stan or other probie to take his frustrations out on, and at least an hour's wait till his ME arrived meant he had no one to buffer him from the locals. Or, worse, buffer the locals from him.

Gibbs had to wonder where the locals were hiding. The NCIS agent had sighted only one cruiser parked around the corner and an unmarked parked out front. No forensics, no spectators, no media. If this was a wild goose chase, someone was going to be in for a world of hurt. Not waiting around until someone bothered to remember there was an active crime scene; Gibbs stormed the house like the marines had stormed Iwo Jima.

The hall was empty, but voices could be heard coming from a small living room off to the right. One look in the room and Gibbs felt like he'd been sucker-punched.

It wasn't the blood; he'd seen enough of that to last a lifetime, first as a Sniper, and then in his ongoing career as an NCIS agent provocateur/investigator.

It wasn't the victims; two deceased that he could see.

It wasn't, and this surprised him, the tall, blue-eyed man who was so obviously military, it almost hurt. No, what struck Gibbs was the _other_ tall man in the room- brown-haired, hazel-eyed, and dressed to kill.

Twice, so far, in his life, Gibbs had had such a visceral reaction to another person. The first had been Shannon, gone but not forgotten. The second had been a tall, young, blue-eyed army ranger named Jim Ellison. Now, it seemed, the NCIS agent could add one more to the list; hazel eyes-name currently unknown.

Feelings aside, what was Jim Ellison doing at the crime scene? The last Gibbs had heard, Ellison was supposedly working as a detective out of Cascade, Washington State; not racing around Washington, DC, and its environs. 'Hazel eyes' supplied the answer in a smooth baritone; and it didn't please Gibbs one iota.

"Mr. Ellison, is it your habit to go busting down doors on the off chance an assault might be taking place?" 'Hazel eyes' looked at Jim Ellison, and didn't even flinch when the 'Ellison' stare was applied. "Or, were you the assault?"

Ah, so Ellison was a suspect. Wonderful. The _piece de la resistance_ capping the entire day.

A very loud snicker from the third, living, occupant of the room --a shorter man with way too much curly hair to be hanging around with someone as uptight as Ellison-- quickly drew Gibbs attention. The snicker also drew the attention of both Ellison and Hazel eyes.

"Don't go there, Chief. Don't even think about it," Ellison growled, looking down at Short and Curly.

Short and curly volleyed the glare with a smirk; not a flicker of fear evident in tone or posture. "I call them as I see them, Jim."

Say what? The Ellison Gibbs remembered would have had the pup up against the nearest wall; probably making some comment about hippie punk witch doctors and shaking him down for drugs or some such; short and curly sure looked the part. When the expected wall throwing failed to materialize, Gibbs decided it was time to step in and take control.

"Gibbs, NCIS." Three heads snapped to face him with almost comical speed. Gibbs decided to ignore the 'oh shit' he heard Ellison mutter.

"Tony DiNozzo, Baltimore PD." 'Hazel eyes' was finally identified. "What can I do for you, Agent Gibbs?"

"You can tell me about my Marine… and my case."

"Your Marine? Your case?" DiNozzo raked his eyes over Gibbs; the look said Fed, as in Fed up with interference. Gibbs thought the look particularly funny given the lack of scene control and protocol that the locals, as represented by one Tony DiNozzo, had in place.

"My Marine, Lt. Michelle Kirby, the female deceased. My case." Gibbs snapped, as he pointed at the woman sitting on the lounge; double-tapped to the head. "Also, given the sloppy way you and your colleagues seem to be being handling things, the sooner I take over, the better. My ME will be here shortly and until then I want you to go over everything that's been done so far." Good looking or not, Gibbs wasn't real impressed with the Baltimore locals. He'd arrived to find the crime scene unguarded. He'd gotten into the house and into the room without once being stopped. The fact that at least two people who needed interviewing, separately, were still on scene, was just the icing on the cake. Gibbs was impressed, not; so it was his Marine, his case.

"Fuck." DiNozzo probably meant that invective to be sub-vocal but Gibbs heard it; Ellison too, if the look on Ellison's face was anything to go by.

Consulting his notebook, and wishing he still had Stan Burley with him at the moment, Gibbs rattled off the facts he knew. "Lt. Michelle Kirby, IT specialist, new to the corps. Age 34, divorced, ex-husband currently stationed at Lejeune. Recently engaged to a Theodore Williams; homicide detective from Washington. Apparently someone heard gunshots and reported it to Baltimore PD. I assume that's where you come in, Detective DiNozzo. What I want to know is why you still have the suspects here and not in lock-up, and where is your goddamn partner?"

"Suspects?" That was Ellison.

"Ted Williams?" That was Short and Curly, totally ignoring Ellison.

"So, you knew him?" Gibbs aimed his level four glare at the smaller man.

Apparently Short and Curly hadn't recognized the male corpse, though with the face and chest all but obliterated as a result of what looked like two close range shot-gun blasts, even the man's mother might have had difficulty recognizing him.

Interestingly, while completely un-fazed by the Gibbs glare, the other man suddenly looked ready to puke as he really looked at the corpse on the living room floor.

"What did he do to you, Ellison? Try a little poaching?" Gibbs had raised the 'suspect' assessment to possible, now that he knew that Ellison and company knew one of the victims; even if, as Abby would have said, the idea of Ellison being a homicide suspect was hinky.

"Poaching?" That was DiNozzo getting back into the game. "Suspects? Agent Gibbs, I think you may have the wrong end of the stick here. Detective Bunka is currently canvassing the neighbors. Detective Sandburg here," a nod to Short and Curly, "was the one who called in the shooting. He and Detective Ellison were just starting to give me their initial statements when you arrived," DiNozzo snarked back at Gibbs. "I'd say your people have done a pretty sloppy job passing on the relevant details."

Detective Sandburg? If Short and Curly was a Detective then someone, somewhere had really dropped their standards. Still, not happy having been caught flat-footed -- and that new twit on call out was going to hear that when he got back to DC -- Gibbs backed down. . . slightly. The last thing he needed was to turn the supposed witness uncooperative; Morrow would have his guts for that. "I was told there'd been a report of gunshots. I have a deceased Marine, and you're questioning someone who looks like they could kill." That was the closest Gibbs was going towards apologizing and even then he nodded his head at Ellison.

DiNozzo didn't look exactly happy at the interference. Of course, one look at Ellison and anyone would admit that the man looked like he could, and probably had, killed. "Fine. Okay, Agent Gibbs, why don't we take this from the top?" DiNozzo made the peace offering but did not, however, indicate he was ready to relinquish control. "You've got a dead Marine, but I've got a dead civilian, so we'll be working this together, or you can have your Marine but I'm keeping my 'officer down'."

Great, the local had backbone. "Okay. How about we start with how you know Ted Williams?" Gibbs fired the question off at the 'supposed' Detective Sandburg.

"He's attending the Serial Profiling and Serious Offenders training conference with us." Sandburg looked up at Ellison, "You remember him, Jim. He's with the 23rd division. He wouldn't stop talking about his fiancée."

Gibbs snorted to himself; not only was Sandburg a detective but apparently he was being trained as a profiler. What the hell was a man who apparently couldn't look at a corpse without turning green doing being trained as a serious offender profiler? DiNozzo appeared to agree with his assessment as his professional mask slipped, just for a moment, though it was back in place quickly enough.

"Sandburg, breathe." Ellison commanded the man beside him before he turned and leveled the 'Ellison' glare at Gibbs. DiNozzo, showing he was no fool, quickly stepped out of the metaphorical firing line. "Hello, Gunny, long time, no see."

Gibbs had to smile as he watched Ellison forcibly turn his companion away from the corpse. "Gibbs, let me introduce you to my partner, Dr. Sandburg. Detective Sandburg, I'd like you to meet Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Two B's; the second one stands for bastard."

"You two know each other?" DiNozzo didn't look happy at the little fact. He looked even less happy as his question was ignored.

"It's just Gibbs now, Captain Ellison." Two could play that game. "So, you're attending a course on Serious Offenders and Serial Profiling? Last I heard you were living the quiet life in Cascade."

"Quiet life?" Sandburg actually had the temerity to look at Gibbs as though Gibbs had swallowed a whale, whole. "Man, where are you getting your intel from?" Then, apparently recovering from his 'shock' at knowing one of the victims and before Gibbs could take offense Sandburg bounced forward to shake his hand, "Nice to meet you, Agent Gibbs. What say we postpone the rest of the military one-upmanship till after we've finished answering Detective DiNozzo's questions?"

"Chief," Ellison growled.

"Jim, Detectives DiNozzo and Bunka have a job to do; you remember what that's like. So how about we expedite the process, huh? It also looks like Agent Gibbs here has about as much patience as you, on a good day, so the sooner we start helping, the sooner we get cut loose." Then, turning to face DiNozzo, Sandburg continued speaking, "Now, Detective, as I was trying to say before we were interrupted. . ."

"Mr. Sandburg, this is my case now," Gibbs snapped, annoyed at being summarily ignored.

"That's Detective Sandburg, Mr. Gibbs, or Dr. Sandburg if you prefer, and I thought I'd finish giving my statement to Detective DiNozzo, seeing as he already has half of it. I had assumed that you would get a copy from him and then ask any further questions you deemed necessary. Of course, Jim still hasn't given his statement yet. Want to interview him while I finish up with Detective DiNozzo?" The smile Sandburg sent his way was more than a little cocky; seemed like Ellison had actually partnered up with someone who had the balls to handle the ex-Ranger.

Procedures said separate the witnesses; his gut told him that things would go a lot faster if both Ellison and Sandburg ran through things once. "I can wait, Dr. Sandburg. After all, you're not a detective here."

The implied insult didn't trouble Sandburg. Ellison, however, looked ready to rip him a new one. Of course, the fact Gibbs would have given Ellison the courtesy of using the title apparently wasn't lost on anyone in the room.

DiNozzo, meanwhile, having watched the pissing contest, apparently decided he'd had enough. Showing that he had the brains to go along with the looks, DiNozzo 'restarted' his interview with Sandburg, allowing Gibbs to listen to the whole tale. "So, Detective Sandburg, or do you prefer Doctor Sandburg?" DiNozzo quirked an eyebrow to indicate not only did he expect that question to be answered but he also meant to use whichever title Sandburg preferred; a not so subtle dig at Gibbs. "As you seem to be the only other reasonable person in the room at the moment. . ."

"That's not too hard," Sandburg muttered, but Ellison definitely heard it.

"Chief." Again with the growl.

DiNozzo cheerfully ignored the by-play, speaking over Ellison's feline growl. "Would you mind telling me just what you and Detective Ellison were doing in the neighborhood?"

"Firstly, I'll answer to both, Detective DiNozzo, though Blair's easier."

"Then, call me Tony," DiNozzo smiled at his witness before a look of what might have been recognition flashed over DiNozzo's features. "Wait a minute, Dr. Blair Sandburg? Author of _The Not So Thin Blue Line_?" DiNozzo looked impressed.

Shit, with DiNozzo having placed the name, Gibbs was mortified. _The Not So Thin Blue Line_ was required reading at FLETC now; and, almost every other law enforcement academy in the States. That explained part of what Ellison was doing with someone who turned green at a crime scene. Even he'd put up with someone puking if they had that sort of insight; hell, it even explained what Ellison was doing at a Serial Profiling and Serious Offenders training conference. Ellison was likely attending as an adjunct to Sandburg; Sandburg was probably teaching parts of the course.

"Yep, that's me." Sandburg just shrugged his shoulders as though it was no big deal. Ellison however looked pleased as punch at having 'caught' Gunny Gibbs making a rookie mistake: never assume anything. Worse, Gibbs knew that he'd given away his stupid misconception that Sandburg was nothing but a liability so he had no recourse but to remain silent. Ellison's smile in turn beamed brighter as he apparently read the silence as acknowledgement that Gibbs had made a mistake; something Gibbs was rarely caught doing.

"Anyway, Detective DiNozzo, Jim and I were taking advantage of a day off from the training and accreditation course to head up to Johns Hopkins. That's why we're in the neighborhood."

"And you heard shots? Over the traffic noise?" DiNozzo looked, and sounded, skeptical.

Skeptical was the right word. Though Gibbs remembered that trying to sneak up on Jim Ellison had always been difficult, if not impossible; and Gibbs had been known for being part cat so maybe Ellison's hearing was good enough.

"Detective DiNozzo."

"Tony," DiNozzo interrupted.

"Okay, Tony, from the top; I was driving up North Charles Street, Jim was riding shotgun. We'd just passed East 21st and were approaching East 22nd when Jim pulled the wheel to the right into East 22nd saying he'd heard shots fired."

"And you always investigate shots fired, even when completely out of your jurisdiction?"

"I suppose you'd just drive by, Tony?" How Sandburg managed to make that a simple question and not an insult was a skill even Gibbs wished he had. . . sometimes.

"Point taken. So then what?"

"We pulled up in front this house. Jim said he heard a struggle still going on and went to help while I called 911."

Remembering what had remained of the front door through which he'd entered the single story house, Gibbs had a fairly good idea of what the help had been. Door versus Ellison; Ellison one, door zero.

"And that was at?"

"Thirteen-thirty."

Almost an hour ago; Gibbs really had to wonder about the locals if he could beat Forensics, even with his driving, to the scene.

"Dispatch said they'd have a couple of cars here ASAP and I was to wait out the front," Sandburg continued explaining, unaware of the thoughts running through Gibbs' mind.

"You told them your partner had gone inside?"

"I was about to when I heard two shotgun blasts." Sandburg's face lost a bit of color as he said that; not that Gibbs could blame him. If his partner had just raced into a house moment before more shots were fired Gibbs would have been assuming the worst as well. "I dropped the phone and was heading for the front door when I heard breaking glass off to the right side of the house. I changed direction, assuming that it might be the 'perp' attempting to escape, which appears to have been the case. Anyway, I followed at a discreet distance."

Followed? Without checking on his partner? Gibbs wasn't real certain how he felt about that; you never left your partner out in the cold. Something of what he was thinking must have flashed across his face. That or Sandburg was hell on wheels at reading people.

"I knew Jim was okay." Sandburg snapped.

"How?" Gibbs snapped back; it might not be one of his own rules but the rule _never leave your partner without backup_ was sacrosanct in law enforcement.

"Because I did, Okay?" Sandburg lost a little of his habitual calm. "Anyway, if he'd needed me Jim would have called me on my cell."

"Chief, stand down," Jim growled in. It wasn't the fault of Gibbs, or DiNozzo, that neither man was aware of the special link between Jim and Blair. Unfortunately, for all concerned, Blair had a tendency to over-react when called on any indication that he might not have the right stuff to be Jim's partner; the whole, you're just an observer thing still haunting Blair.

DiNozzo didn't look too pleased either. Ellison might have been alright being left in the cold, as it were, but Tony wasn't. If Sandburg could do that then maybe Sandburg wasn't quite the man he was purported to be. Still, something in Ellison's attitude showed the big man had no problems with Blair's actions. Given that, it looked like there was another story there to hunt. Rather than getting caught up in a side inquiry, DiNozzo pulled everyone's focus back to the statement he was taking down. "You followed him where?"

"He ran east along 22nd street. Turned south down St Paul street then east along North Avenue. He turned south down Greenmount Avenue. I lost him when he entered the Green Mount Cemetery, though I saw him hiding a gun in a bush near the cemetery entrance." Sandburg's details were clear, concise, and given in a way that spoke of years in law enforcement.

"Do you think you could find the bush again?"

"I know which bush it was. I marked it and no one's going to touch it."

Gibbs noted that Ellison reacted to Sandburg's comment as though it meant a lot more than was said on the surface; unspoken code between two people who knew each other very well. Great, they were speaking in code.

"So you know what he dropped then?" Tony's voice pulled Gibbs attention back to the interview.

"Double barreled shotgun, recently fired."

"Any reason that you didn't pick it up?"

"Apart from compromising forensic evidence, you mean?" Sandburg smiled disarmingly, "I didn't think it was a good idea."

Again, Sandburg had to be talking in some form of code, given the way Ellison reacted. This time, however, DiNozzo noticed.

"You didn't think it was a good idea? Any particular reason?"

"I knew which bush it was in and I thought it best to get back to Jim before anyone else arrived at the primary scene."

"To get your stories straight?" DiNozzo had the balls to ask Blair. "You often collude on your statements?"

'_Jim_?' Gibbs could have sworn he heard Sandburg ask Ellison's permission for something.

"Sandburg tends to think of himself as my keeper," Ellison growled. "Occasionally I get a bit lost in examining a scene and I've been known to react badly when surprised. Sandburg was probably worried that I'd shoot one of your locals."

Reasonable answer. . . not. Gibbs' gut started screaming that there was more to the story, and it looked like DiNozzo was a cut above some of the 'Baltimore locals' Gibbs had worked with in the past. "And why would you have been examining the scene, Mr. Ellison? After all, you are way out of your jurisdiction."

"Habit. You know how it is, you walk onto a crime scene and you start to automatically notice things." Ellison wasn't happy being questioned, that was obvious. He was even less happy about the lack of a courtesy title.

Before any further questions could be asked, the group was interrupted by the arrival of a fattish, racing towards balding man, dressed like a Columbo reject.

"You still think it's one of your 'pet' serial, DiNozzo? Two dead, your perp seen; doesn't sound like the others you think are linked?" the fat man commented derisively as he entered the lounge room. "And just who the hell are all these people?" The large man's hand swung to point at Gibbs and the two Cascade detectives as he suddenly realized he and DiNozzo had company.

* * * * * * *


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two.

If Gibbs hadn't already been watching DiNozzo, having decided the young Detective was worth more than the expensive clothes suggested, he would have missed it. One second he was dealing with a very confident, and obviously capable Detective, the next he was watching a playboy at work.

"Hey Bunka, long time, no see. Any good looking co-eds among the neighbors?" DiNozzo's smile lit up everything but his eyes. "Bunka, I'd like you to meet Mr. Ellison, Mr. Sandburg, Agent Gibbs from, which agency you from again?" The latter being addressed to Gibbs in a fair imitation of a Californian Surfer.

Gibbs wasn't the only one to notice the change; Ellison and Sandburg were both blinking their eyes, though Sandburg stopped first.

"Serial, what serial?" Tony addressed his colleague while he made a quick 'not here' gesture towards Sandburg.

"Our Tony boy here thinks everything's a serial," Bunka commented derisively. "It's a murder-suicide. Write it up, DiNozzo. The neighbors heard nothing, saw nothing. There's no evidence of sexual predatorism or any of that other ritual shit behaviors like the memo said to look for when dealing with possible serials. You just want a serial so you can be noticed by the Feds." Bunka, apparently the senior partner, hadn't even twigged that there was at least one Fed in the room. "This ain't the movies, DiNozzo, this is Baltimore, real life. Finish up with the 'witnesses,' then let's get back to the station."

"Bunka, if it's a murder-suicide, then where is the weapon?" DiNozzo asked his colleague. "Murder-suicide? I mean, take a look at the vics, Bunka, one was shot close range with a shotgun, the other with a pistol. I thought it was normal to use only the one weapon in this type of crime?"

"Shows what you know, DiNozzo. You haven't got enough time in, in homicide, anywhere to be able to make that call. It probably went down like this," Bunka continued to explain, passing his wisdom on to the next generation, "Fiancé comes home, catches the little lady 'chatting' with some sleaze on the internet. They argue. He leaves the room; she sits down on the couch. He comes back in, shoots her with his service piece before offing himself with the shotgun. Murder-suicide, simple."

"But then the weapons should still be here." Tony pressed.

"Pat down the hippie wanna-be. That's where you'll find the weapon. He probably wandered in and took it, now he's trying to snow you till you let him go." Bunka's people skills were bad enough to make Gibbs cringe. Making those sorts of comments in front of said 'witnesses' with another witness present was the sort of thing defense lawyers longed for; hadn't the idiot read what happened in the O.J. trial?

DiNozzo apparently had read some, if not all, of the O.J. fall-out documents currently circulating law enforcement. "Bunka, Detective Sandburg was the person who called in the shooting."

"Detective? That ain't no goddamn Detective!" Bunka had taken one look at Sandburg and made a similar set of assumptions that Gibbs had made. That he'd reacted the same way didn't sit well with Gibbs, but at least he hadn't said it out loud, or implied that Sandburg had actually stolen the weapon.

Sandburg, to give the man his due, made no comment, though he quickly stepped forward into Ellison's path.

'Brave man', more than one occupant of the room thought as they'd observed the almost homicidal expression that was currently plastered across Ellison's face. Ellison, all bunching muscles and a strong physical presence was not someone the average Joe would want to tangle with.

Gibbs, watching in something akin to awe, was surprised to see Sandburg was apparently talking Ellison 'down'; see, not hear, because Sandburg was definitely speaking below a whisper. Luckily for Gibbs he could lip read with the best of them.

_Jim, settle down, man. You made the same assumptions about hippie-wanna-be's when we met. Hell, Gibbs assumed the same thing. Remember, I don't scream 'cop' like the rest of you do. Anyway, the sooner you calm down the sooner I can ask Tony about his serial. I have the feeling we're going to be needed here. Might explain my sudden urge to visit Johns Hopkins._

_This isn't our tribe, Chief._

_I get the feeling that our 'tribe' is wherever we are at the time. Remember Texas?_

'Urge to visit Johns Hopkins?' From what Sandburg had said when giving his statement to DiNozzo, the trip to Johns Hopkins sounded like a well planned trip. Just what was going on here? Suddenly Gibbs was caught between the need to watch the conversation going on between Ellison and Sandburg and listening to the conversation between DiNozzo and Bunka.

"DiNozzo, I've just finished talking to the neighbors. No one saw nothing, no one heard nothing. The only people who apparently knew about the shooting are both standing here in the lounge when they should be down at the station in booking. Hell, DiNozzo, even the uniforms didn't get here till almost twenty minutes after the call; only just beat us. Benden swears they drove past this place five times before they found it." Bunka didn't sound too happy, and Gibbs couldn't fault him for it; twenty minutes was a long time in terms of an active crime.

"Drove by it? How the hell could they miss the corner house?" DiNozzo sounded skeptical.

"That's what I asked 'em. Benden started going on about something called SEP fields and stuff like that. Valdez says the place had been 'touched'; his words not mine. Valdez said if this had happened back home in New Orleans he'd swear a sorcerer or witch had put a spell on the place; and your hippie wanna-be was giving Valdez the heebie-jeebies."

_SEP field, Chief?_

_Jim, you'd zoned man. What was I supposed to do? Have the locals come busting in here with you frozen and standing over a corpse. This isn't Cascade, you know. Simon and Major Crime can cover us the few times things get real weird but this the real world, and these people don't look like they'd be able to think outside the box._

_OK, Chief. I understand. I don't have to like it, though. Did you get anything else while you were chasing the perp?_

_He's done this before. He plans on doing it again. He thinks he's serving his country._

_He?_

_Definitely._

"Valdez gets the heebie-jeebies if a black cat crosses his path. As for the hippie wanna-be, that there is Dr. Blair Sandburg, the author of _The Not So Thin Blue Line_."

"Shit, you gotta be fucking kidding, DiNozzo. Our prime suspect can't be Dr. Blair Sandburg; we'd both be stuck on crossing duty till the Chief retires if we tried making something like that stick." Bunka might look it, but he wasn't _that _stupid; Sandburg was required reading even for the 'old guard'. Still, he had hopes. "You sure that's Sandburg? Doesn't look like a cop to me."

Looking at Sandburg, anyone would agree that the man did not look like a cop. Sandburg might be dressed in a casual suit but with the hair, the earring and the face, he just didn't give off 'cop vibes'. Fact was, if it hadn't been for Ellison, Tony wouldn't have bought the cop thing either, but Ellison screamed 'cop' so loudly it was almost painful.

"I'm sure, checked the ID and all, Bunka." A bit of snark accompanied that comment, DiNozzo didn't like the assumption that he couldn't even check witness/suspect ID's. "We're both on crossing duty if you want me to arrest those two. They were waiting on scene when the uniforms got here, and Dr. Blair Sandburg's already told me he was the one who phoned in the call to dispatch."

_What about the weapon he dropped?_

_It's safe enough where it is. Just have to find a way to get Tony to go with me and pick it up. What happened in here anyway, Jim? What did you zone on?_

_I think Ted arrived home and surprised the perp. I didn't see any sign of brass when I broke in, just Ted and the perp fighting over a shotgun. Ted was wielding the shotgun, the perp was holding onto the barrel. Perp was strong enough to force the barrel back into Ted's face, that's how the first shot went. Perp then grabbed the shotgun and put a second shot through Ted's chest about the time I made it to the far side of the lounge. I yelled for him to stop but the perp was far enough away that he could turn and get out through the kitchen. Broke the window with something then cleared the glass with the butt of the gun and I kind of zoned on the refracted light. _If Gibbs hadn't been watching so closely he would have missed it; Ellison was keeping his eyes firmly focused on Sandburg, the instinctive glance to the left indicating a lie apparently held in check but something else in Ellison's body language screamed half-truth to Gibbs.

_Jim, we have to work on your control around light a bit more, don't we?_ Sandburg seemed to have missed the body language clue buying whatever line it was that Ellison was selling.

"Hell."

"Hey, Bunka, don't sweat it. We can always handball this off to the Feds if you want…" He nodded towards Gibbs.

"Feds? DiNozzo, what the fuck is going on?"

"I introduced Agent Gibbs before, didn't I?" DiNozzo's comment brought attention back to Gibbs' presence.

"Ummm, Agent Gibbs?" Bunka tried the interrogative eyebrow trick but failed miserably.

"Gibbs, NCIS." Gibbs flashed his ID at the second Baltimore Detective. "And do you have any idea how long it's going to be before your forensics people show?"

"Forensics?" Bunka looked like someone had whacked him upside the head with a two by four. "They should be here by now. You called them in, didn't you DiNozzo?"

DiNozzo blinked, twice.

_Oops._

_Chief?_

"Forensics hasn't been called?" Gibbs made a statement of the question while he turned his force nine glare at Sandburg. Gibbs' gut screamed that someway, somehow, Sandburg was the reason forensics wasn't on scene.

DiNozzo and Bunka turned to look at the out-of-town detective, but it was DiNozzo who actually spoke. "You got any idea why our people aren't here yet, Detective Sandburg? Maybe some new age mojo?" The raised eyebrow and the skeptical look that accompanied the question didn't ring true. DiNozzo might have been asking a foolish question but he apparently he didn't completely dismiss the 'new age mojo' angle.

Luckily for Blair, DiNozzo wasn't the senior partner here. Bunka obviously decided that it was DiNozzo's fault and started reaming the younger detective out for forgetting to call in forensics.

Not liking the fact the younger Detective was being reamed for something that was, somehow, out of his control didn't sit well with Gibbs. Deciding to intervene, Gibbs started towards Sandburg, sure that the hippie was the one at fault, when the world appeared to tilt on its axis. One moment, Bunka was reaming out DiNozzo, the next Bunka was calling in forensics, totally ignoring everyone else in the room.

**"Sandburg?" Jim raced forward, catching the young man as he began to collapse in a heap. "What the hell did you do?"**

**Gibbs and DiNozzo both wanted to know as well; Sandburg was almost as white as a ghost, up to and including his eyes. Stranger still was the fact Bunka hadn't reacted at all, continuing to talk to dispatch about sending a crew out.**

**"Think I overdid it on the shielding," Sandburg whispered just before falling into a dead faint.**

**"Dammit, Chief. You'd better not have stuck us in half-time again."**

**"Half-time?" DiNozzo voiced the question for both of them.**

**"Oh Shit!" Ellison looked like he'd seen a ghost. "What the hell are you doing here?"**

**"Us? Doing here? Just where is here, exactly?" The competent DiNozzo was back with a vengeance.**

**Gibbs decided if Sandburg hadn't already been dead to the world, he would have been given the look Ellison sent his partner. Gibbs also would never admit it, but if Ellison had looked at him like that even he might have pissed his pants. "Um, we might have to wait till Sandburg wakes up. He's much better at explaining these things."**

**"These things? Things like time shifting? ****Things like the fact your partner can put up a real Somebody Else's Problem shield?****" Gibbs might have been on the defensive, but DiNozzo wasn't. "Things like fucking wolves sitting on the sidelines in the middle of suburban Baltimore?"**

**Wolves? It was then that Gibbs noticed the gray wolf crouched down beside Sandburg, nuzzling and licking at the man's face.**

**"Your partner gave Valdez the heebie-jeebies for real, didn't he, Detective Ellison?"**

**The way Bunka was acting gave Gibbs the heebie-jeebies.**

"Yep, you'll need to send the ME and the meat wagon. We've got two dead, though we're going to have a jurisdictional battle." Bunka walked past DiNozzo and over toward the couch where Lt. Kirby still sat. "One of the deceased a Navy lieutenant, so you'd better let the Navy cops know, NCSI or something like that."

"I'll have DiNozzo speak with the witnesses. I'll canvass the neighbors but I don't think they heard anything.

"Nope, no one gawking out front is why.

"OK, Captain."

**"Hell, Sandburg, how do we get ourselves into these things?" Ellison asked the unconscious man before he turned to face the other two men in the room who could see him. "Sandburg is a practicing Shaman. I think he shielded the house so that nothing would be disturbed while he chased after the perp; his way of protecting the evidence. Anyway, his shield was a bit stronger than he planned and until he takes it down no ones going to find this house who really doesn't need to. And before you ask, yes, the shielding is why Blair left me to go follow the perp," Jim explained emphasizing the fact that he had been perfectly safe; effectively answering the earlier, unspoken, criticism of his partner.**

**"So he like Obi-Wan Kenobi'd the house? The whole 'this is not the house you are looking for' and all that?" DiNozzo didn't seem at all fazed by the 'shield' comment or by the fact Bunka was acting like he'd just arrived on scene. Nope, DiNozzo looked fascinated by the whole thing. "I'd have thought Forensics would have been the first one needed."**

**DiNozzo might have been fascinated but Gibbs was just getting pissed.**

**"Only if there was evidence here that forensics could find. Looks like there's nothing of 'straight' forensics value at the scene; I couldn't find the brass from the double-tap, and if I couldn't see it your forensics people won't find it."**

**"Still got those good eyes, Ellison?" Gibbs snarked in frustration as he decided to join the conversation.**

**"Better."**

**"Bunka, Gibbs and I?" That was DiNozzo asking a fairly pertinent question.**

**"Given you're here and Bunka isn't then I'd say you both found the house because you were in the car. I'm not even sure why Gibbs is here."**

**"Great. So we wait till your hippie wakes?"**

**"I'm not a hippie." Sandburg grumbled before he opened his eyes. "Hey, Wolfer, what you doing here?" he asked the wolf that was now happily nuzzling him. "What'd I miss?"**

**"Apart from the fact you fainted, you mean?" Jim was looking down at the man in his lap with fond tolerance.**

**"I got that part, Jim. I mean what's with the hippie crap? I thought we were past that."**

**"Wasn't me. Was Gibbs. Looks like you have some explaining to do, Guppy." Jim grinned a little at the look of shock on Sandburg's face.**

**"Shit, we've got company?"**

**"You mean apart for Wolfer, here? Yep." Jim helped Sandburg to sit up, making sure the young man was facing his unexpected audience.**

"DiNozzo, you take care of the witness statements. Don't let the hippie out of your sight either." Bunka called as he walked toward the front of the house. "Forensics reckons they'll be here in about fifteen minutes and I'll leave Benden and Valdez guarding the front."

**"Now that is just plain weird." DiNozzo commented as Bunka talked. "If I didn't know better I'd swear he thought we'd just arrived on scene."**

**"Ummm." Sandburg actually looked embarrassed, which, given the chutzpah the kid had shown so far was probably the most worrying aspect of there current predicament. "Detective Bunka kind of does think he's just arrived on scene. With a bit of luck, the call for your forensics backup will also show up time tagged for about thirteen forty-five."**

**"Blair, you haven't been playing with time again have you?" Jim suddenly didn't look happy.**

**'Again?' Gibbs glanced at DiNozzo. The Baltimore cop's thoughts clearly written on his face; looked like Gibbs and DiNozzo were on the same wavelength and neither was happy.**

**"Not this time, Jim. I learned that lesson already." Blair murmured but Gibbs heard the comment anyway.**

**'Learned that lesson, already. Hell, what was Ellison involved in?' Gibbs had to wonder. Still, it was apparent he was not supposed to have heard the comment for it looked like Sandburg's perception of volume was a bit off as he kept speaking in that low-not-low voice. "Just fiddled with the time perception a bit, if Tony really has a serial and I'm kind of thinking he has, given he didn't fall out with Bunka, then any forensics, no matter how insignificant, might be important. If the time frame's suspect though, then the whole case might end up running an O.J."**

**"Yeah, I know."**

**"So it's worth the bit of a headache getting everyone on the same page, time-wise."**

**"Except for the fact Gibbs and DiNozzo here know that something's screwy." Jim kept one hand supporting Blair's back while he looked daggers at the other two. 'Keep quiet or else', was the unspoken message. So, Blair, you want to explain to the preppie class what's going on before company arrives?"**

**"Let me get us synched first. It'll be safer that way."**

**'Synched?' Gibbs was about to ask when the world tilted again, this time in glorious technicolor. For a moment Gibbs actually thought he was the subject of one of Abby's pictures -- 'Sad Death of a Drano Drinker' coming to mind. Seeing DiNozzo turn almost as green as he felt only served to verify that whatever was happening was happening.**

**When the world** righted itself Sandburg was standing next to Ellison. Ellison was still, doing a very good impression of a statue.

"Oh, Hell. Come on Jim, time to come back." Sandburg was literally crooning in Ellison's ear. From a distance it would have looked intimate; from up close and personal it looked even more so.

Needing Sandburg to explain what was going on made the next five minutes difficult. Gibbs didn't have a clue what had happened, what was happening, or worse, what might happen. Hell, Gibbs didn't even have a clue where to start asking questions, and the only person who could answer was crooning away at the statuesque Ellison.

"Come on Jim, come on. Time to wake up. Wakey, wakey, rise and shine. The early Sentinel gets the Wonderburger."

"With all the toppings, Chief."

"Ellison, if I didn't know better I'd swear you were waiting till I mentioned Wonderburger!" Sandburg snapped at his now not-so comatose partner before he turned to address the other men. "Sorry about that, but if I didn't get Jim out of that zone we'd have had to explain a bit more than I want to a larger audience."

"Zone?" This time Gibbs voiced his question.

"Jim?"

"Sandburg, they've watched you play with time perception. I think explaining the Sentinel thing is going to be the easiest thing for them to swallow right now; the rest you can explain when we are a bit more private. Anyway, Jethro knows me from my Ranger days; your explanation is only going to clear a few things up for him, like it did in Major Crimes. But you'd better make it fast, company's about five blocks away."

The casual reference to how close company was triggered a memory deep in Gibbs' mind. _One of the few joint Army-Navy exercises he remembered almost going to plan; almost. Kangaroo exercises were never fun; the Australian troops seemed to enjoy trying to get one over on their better equipped counterparts. Gibbs and his Marines' company had been paired up with Ellison's Ranger group; the whole 'the rangers lead the way' card in full play. Their task: secure the LZ for the larger Marine group that was to land in a small bay just west of Cape Melville National Park. The high ground near the small inlet was a perfect spot to set up cover fire; that was Gibbs' job. Ellison's job was to get the Marine group there safely, past dangers human and reptilian. Unspoken had been if they avoided drop-bears as well, so much the better._

_It had been Ellison's ears that had picked up the threat. Australia had snakes that made rattlers look like pansies—at least if you were dumb enough to try standing on one. Which, if Ellison hadn't signaled, Corporal Denison would have; Ellison claimed to have heard the snake move, even though no one else could even see the creature. Denison had frozen at the signal, foot stopped just above a branch which turned out to be anything but a branch._

_Paying closer attention to their footing after that, they'd made it safely to the sniper site, thus ensuring a safe landing by the Marines. The same couldn't be said however of the general Army units who were meant to form the other arm of the pincer movement aimed to trap the Australians in the middle of Cape Melville. Even Ellison had been heard to comment creatively on the idiocy of anyone believing in drop-bears, but cutting and running because a couple of lance corporals thought to drop a few of stuffed koala toys into base camp; well, embarrassing didn't cut it._

Still, Gibbs remembered just how good Ellison's ears had been.

"Okay, it goes like this. In all tribal cultures every village had what Burton named a Sentinel. Now this was someone who patrolled the border. A Sentinel is chosen because of a genetic advantage—a sensory awareness that can be developed beyond normal humans. Anyway Jim is a Sentinel, and his senses are developed like way, way, way beyond normal." Blair looked like a kid in a candy store as he spoke

"Well, that's as clear as mud." DiNozzo, it seemed, could do sarcastic when he chose to.

"Okay, you asked earlier about hearing shots, remember? Jim, how about you listen in on the incoming backup and tell us anything that might demonstrate you can hear what's going on, over traffic and all. We can always verify what you hear later."

Jim didn't look at all happy to be volunteered for a dog and pony show, but this needed to be done fast Grabbing hold of Blair by the scruff of his neck -- "Hey, watch it with the goods, man," -- Jim looked at Gibbs,. "You expecting someone called 'Ducky', Jethro?"

The look of surprise confirmed Jim's statement.

"It seems his assistant, Gerald, is having a bit of trouble navigating the turn off the 83. They just missed the North Avenue turn, and Ducky appears to be remembering a time something like this happened in Paris."

Gibbs felt himself go cold; yes, he remembered Ellison and his good ears but what Ellison's' words implied just wasn't possible, was it? Was Ellison really listening to Ducky? Hell, if Ellison was then why wasn't he tied up in some government lab or working for one of the more clandestine alphabet soup organizations? Were hearing and sight the only senses enhanced? Even if hearing was the only enhanced sense Gibbs couldn't quite stop the special-operative part of his own brain from salivating at the possibilities. Thinking on the some of the operations he'd had to run, Paris in particular, Gibbs was almost drooling at the thought of being able to listen in, undetected and probably undetectable.

Something of Gibbs' thoughts must have shown on his face as Ellison apparently switched to listening to a closer target. Mind, it could have been a coincidence as DiNozzo, unacquainted with the unknown 'Ducky' wasn't as going to be convinced that Ellison was anything special based on some supposed conversation between unknown colleagues of Gibbs; still, Gibbs' white face certainly backed up the fact that the conversation relayed could actually be happening. That being said, Gibbs was not happy that Ellison's focus had moved; that was until he saw DiNozzo's reaction.

Ellison started repeating what Bunka was apparently telling the uniforms out front; and what he was saying was interesting on both a professional and personal level. Gibbs was interested to hear that Bunka all professional, though somewhat judgmental, when he'd interacted with them earlier was a different man away from DiNozzo and prying ears. Actually, it seemed Bunka was a bit more than 'somewhat judgmental', he was an outright bigot. Bunka, it appeared listened to office gossip and had no qualms about passing it on. "Knew that DiNozzo was a bit queer but you should have seen him drooling over the Fed. Reckon he might have creamed himself with the idea of playing with the big boys, if you know what I mean."

"Shit. Fuck. Damn. Stupid fuckwit."

Ellison wisely stopped talking.

Gibbs, meanwhile, was stuck trying to calm the enraged detective down. It should have been an easy task but for some strange reason -- keep telling yourself that, Gibbs -- the NCIS agent wasn't really concentrating on the task at hand. In truth, it wasn't that Gibbs wasn't concentrating on the task at hand more that he was concentrating on getting his hands on the task, as it were. Luckily, DiNozzo wasn't swinging, or hitting at anything; in fact, the young detective hadn't moved at all but his language was getting bad enough to make any sailor blush and the volume was going up. Soon he'd be loud enough to be heard outside and that didn't seem like a good idea.

"Hey, calm down." When the command wasn't obeyed, instantly, Gibbs resorted to a quick clip upside the back of the head.

Stunned, DiNozzo just looked at the Fed.

"You calm now?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	3. Chapter 3

**The Cost of Divorce Chapter 3**

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"No."

"Comments like that going to cause you trouble?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On how stupid Valdez and Benden are. If they think Bunka's talking out his ass, no problems, if not, time to polish the resume again."

"Again?"

"Look Gibbs, I don't know what it's like in the military, but out here in the real world rumors can be killers."

"And this one started where?"

"Let's just say someone doesn't want me to be a cop and has found that spreading certain rumors is a good way to get me 'transferred'. I suppose when I run out of options I'll be forced to go home and look after the family business."

That comment got everyone's attention.

"You mean your family is putting it about that you're Gay?" Blair had had enough trouble in Cascade just based on his looks alone to know how dangerous that sort of rumor was to anyone in law enforcement; true or not. Blair didn't have any more problems in Cascade but that was because he'd paid his dues in full; lifetime membership, paid up front with a huge bonus thrown in. But the real world wasn't Cascade.

"Bi, actually." DiNozzo was surprisingly calm with the fact. "Father disowned me when I was twelve because I wasn't interested in the family business. That I've made a life for myself without his help apparently galls him so this is his way of trying to force me back into the fold."

By now there was a palpable aura around Sandburg; red enough even the most mundane would have seen it. DiNozzo and Gibbs wisely took a step back from the enraged young man. Ellison looking at his partner decided they needed a distraction and they needed one before Mount Sandburg blew; fate, fickle creature that she was actually obliged for once, "Blair, cars out front."

_Bunka and DiNozzo Senior were safe, for the moment._

"Captain Turner," Bunka walked into the living room, leading a tall thin man who had close cropped black hair, a gaunt face and eyes that didn't miss a thing, "looks like home invasion gone wrong. Neighbors remember hearing an SUV pull up followed by shouting and then two gunshots. Mrs. Housemeirer, the neighbor, east on 22nd, remembers seeing a short, curly haired hippy sneaking past her house moments after the shots were fired."

_Or not._

Nobody was surprised when all heads turned to face Blair, though the look on Ellison's face wasn't shock as Gibbs had been expecting. The phrase 'looked like a cat that'd gotten the cream' tended to be over used but in this case that was exactly the look on Ellison's face. Gibbs wasn't even surprised to see Ellison mouth '_Chief?_' with an interrogative eyebrow lift.

Sandburg just smiled.

DiNozzo, catching the smile, found himself returning it. Earlier comments about walking a beat till the Chief retired if they tried to arrest Dr. Sandburg without a very strong case, evidence heavy like plutonium heavy, were evidently remembered.

"I left DiNozzo questioning the suspect while I did a perimeter walk." Bunka kept relaying the facts as he perceived them to his Captain. "One of the deceased is a Marine Lieutenant which means we'll have a jurisdictional nightmare."

Turner looked about the room, eyes taking in everything; including the fact that DiNozzo hadn't apparently 'cuffed' the suspect.

"Captain Turner," DiNozzo approached his superior officer with a lank and easy grace that totally juxtaposed Bunka's jackboot stomp, "I was just finishing up with Dr. Blair Sandburg's statement."

"Dr. Blair Sandburg?" Turner looked back at the group of men standing at ease in the far corner of the room.

"Um, yes," DiNozzo cringed, theatrically if you were looking for it, "the hippy. Dr. Sandburg and Detective Ellison of Cascade, Washington, were apparently driving by when they heard shots fired. Detective Sandburg called it in while Detective Ellison apparently entered the house in an attempt to assist whoever was under fire."

"Jethro?" The man that poked head into the room appeared to be short, square jawed and somewhat older then all the others present. His eyes lighting up, a brilliant blue, when he spotted Gibbs standing in the corner with two other men.

"Duck," Gibbs was pleased to see his old friend, the NCIS medical examiner, finally arrive on scene; particularly as he'd arrived before Baltimore's coronial crew. Made claiming Kirby's body that much easier. "Come on in so we can get this started. You don't mind, DiNozzo?" The last was directed at Tony who was still caught up on explaining what was going on to his boss.

The look Tony sent Gibbs way implied he knew exactly what the NCIS agent was up to. Still, he didn't object. Instead Tony indicated with a nod of his head that introductions were in order and then they'd settle up the turf war.

Turner, meanwhile, was staring at Sandburg with a look of horror. If, as DiNozzo seemed to imply, the 'hippy' was the Dr. Sandburg who had written '_The Not So Thin Blue Line'_ then some explanations and introductions were definitely in order. Quietly reaming Bunka a new one would have to wait till he could have a private word with the man. Still, said reaming couldn't wait for too long

"DiNozzo," Turner barked at his other Detective, "introductions."

"Captain Turner," DiNozzo didn't snap to attention, he just languidly nodded his head toward the men in the corner, "the grey-haired gentleman on the left is Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS." DiNozzo ignored the growl, though he was secretly pleased at getting a rise out of the very sure NCIS agent. "He's here because one of the victims is a Marine, Lt. Kirby. Gibbs and I haven't sorted out jurisdiction yet."

"Shared," Turner cut across the introductions. "As you seem to be getting along well with Agent Gibbs you can act as the liaison, DiNozzo."

Shared, Gibbs smiled at that though he files the 'grey-haired' comment away for later retribution. Of course his definition of 'shared' and Captain Turner's probably differed quite a bit.

"Okay, Captain." DiNozzo acknowledged before continuing, "The other gentlemen here are Detective Ellison and Dr. Sandburg; both are from Washington State." DiNozzo happily used Sandburg's academic title; rubbing Bunka's mistake in. "Sandburg and Ellison were the gentlemen who called in the shooting, and this?" DiNozzo turned face the doorway indicating that Gibbs should finalize the introductions.

"Dr. Donald Mallard, NCIS' medical examiner. Come on in, Duck."

"Sandburg, hmmmm." The ME was momentarily lost in thought, "I knew a Ms. Sandburg once. She was such a beautiful girl, so full of life unlike you, my poor dear." Ducky Mallard commented as he approached the couch where Lt. Kirby still sat. "Oh dear, we will get you home as soon as possible."

"Duck, TOD?" Gibbs cut across Ducky's patter ignoring the shocked faces about the room.

"Hold your horses, Jethro. I've only just gotten here." The ME waved his hand at the NCIS agent. "Now my dear, this won't hurt a bit," the ME continued talking to the corpse as he carefully inserted a liver temperature probe into her right side. "Jethro, if you want to be of assistance, how about helping Gerald bring the gurney in here."

Turner, Bunka, Sandburg and Ellison looked on in stunned silence as the smallish ME took charge of the room. Even Gibbs, who until now had been all demanding, was deferring to the man.

"He's almost as pushy as you, Chief," Ellison whispered to his partner. "It's always the small ones you have to watch out for."

Gibbs bit back a smirk at the comment. Dangerous things did come in small packages, including dynamite.

"TOD Jethro. Liver temp puts it between 1300 and 1330. Preliminary cause of death, two gunshots to the head, but I'll know more once I get her back to the lab. I can't see any powder burns on the forehead, so early indications are she was not shot at close range. Have photographs been taken yet?"

Gibbs looked to DiNozzo who indicated that no scene work had been done yet. "The Baltimore forensics techs are just arriving Duck. We'll have to wait till they finish processing the scene."

Dr. Mallard didn't have to say anything, it was obvious in his posture, that he was not happy with the situation. "Is there any reason why we managed to get here before Baltimore's finest?" As the speaker for the dead, Donald Mallard did not like leaving the deceased unattended properly for any longer than necessary; the dead should not be made to wait to tell their tales.

"Duck, joint jurisdiction."

"Ah," it seemed that the NCIS had had problems with joint investigation in the past if the tone in Ducky's sigh was anything to go by. "Well, I hope you are taking your own copious notes, Jethro, you don't have someone else to task that with today." Ducky couldn't help the bit of snark at the field agent; after all Jethro had finally driven Stan Burley off and there weren't many agents left at NCIS, none in reality, willing to work with Leroy Jethro Gibbs voluntarily. The look Ducky shot at Gibbs was only accurately interpreted by one man in the room, the intended victim; the message, stop scarring the help off and learn to play with others nicely.

"Detective DiNozzo's has just finished going over Dr. Sandburg's statement. I was hoping that we could walk through his actions while we wait for the techs to finish up here. Is that fine with you gentlemen?" Gibbs quietly took over ignoring the ME and his 'message'.

"Of course, Agent Gibbs." DiNozzo stepped into the breach. "Maybe, Detective Ellison, you could stay here with Detective Bunka and Captain Turner? Go through your actions while Detective Sandburg shows us where he followed the possible perpetrator."

"Detective Sandburg?" Ducky looked up from the corpse he was examining. "I though you said Dr. Sandburg, Detective DiNozzo." Ducky had quite the look on his face, one that Gibbs recognized; Ducky had another puzzle, of the human nature variety, to solve.

"He's both, Dr. Mallard."

"From Cascade, Washington?" The look of intense interest in the ME's eyes increased markedly as his query was confirmed. "You wouldn't be related to Blair Sandburg would you? It's just I remember reading some of his anthropology papers, he's was a brilliant young man but he hasn't published in nearly four years. Just dropped out of the research community; why I remember reading his Master's thesis, he proposed a…"

"I kind of went native while doing my PhD." Blair answered, almost rudely cutting across Dr. Mallard's ramblings. "I ended up joining the police academy and they partnered me with Jim here, no one else was willing to work with him and I drew the short straw."

It was only because Gibbs and DiNozzo were actually watching the pair from Cascade that they saw the twin looks of sorrow that crossed the men's features. There was a story there, and both the Detective and the Agent decided, independently, they would get to the bottom of it.

"Ah yes, the eternal problem for the research anthropologist; looking not touching." Ducky actually looked and sounded disappointed. Neither the look nor the tone was lost on one Jim Ellison, if the tightening around the eyes was anything to go by. "I suppose it is best then that you are no longer researching," Ducky continued seemingly unaware of the turmoil he was causing or the danger he was in.

"Actually, Ducky, Dr. Sandburg appears to have just changed fields." Gibbs spoke up for the younger man, "he's the author of '_The Not So Thin Blue Line.'_"

Ducky had the grace to look abashed having apparently realized he'd stepped into an academic mine field. "I'm sorry, Dr. Sandburg, I really shouldn't make snap judgments. It's just that your work on anthropology was such a refreshing breath of fresh air."

"That's okay, Dr. Mallard." Blair tried, and failed, to sound upbeat; as though it was no big deal. The problem was the brave face was never going to work, not with the stony visage that settled over Ellison's expression. Something about Detective Ellison's stance shouting that if there hadn't been an audience there would have been another corpse in the room.

Blair, normally quick to pick up on Ellisonion tension was just rattled enough to miss the early warning signs, unsettled as he was at the reminder of his previous career. Sandburg didn't regret the path he'd taken but that didn't mean that he appreciated having the previous career, which he'd tanked to protect his partner, spoken of in the manner the Dr. Mallard was. Unfortunately, Sandburg's distraction gave Ducky time enough to delve into his own cavernous memory banks. It was at almost the same instant that the two shorter men came back to full awareness of the surroundings; luckily for Blair he woke from his almost fugue state just ahead of Ducky voicing any difficult comments.

Ah, ah, ah choooooo. . . Doctor Mallard was suddenly caught up in a violent sneezing fit. It would have been almost comical watching the short ME try to catch his breath except for the fact that tears were streaming down the older man's face; Ducky's eye getting red and puffy as the fit continued.

Amidst the confusion it was only Gibbs that had noticed the quick flick of Blair's wrist just before his ME was incapacitated. Coincidence or not, Gibbs decided to watch the ex-anthropologist a little more closely.

Jim, seizing the opportunity presented by Dr. Mallard's sneezing fit, suggested that Blair show DiNozzo and Gibbs where he'd trailed the possible perpetrator. Ellison immediately volunteered to remain behind, and give his statement to Bunka as he approached the incapacitated ME. Jim held out a white cotton handkerchief to the ME with his right hand while signaling Blair to leave the room with his left. That Ellison also intended to have a quiet word with the ME wasn't mentioned though Blair gave Jim an odd look before following DiNozzo out the house.

Whether it was good timing, or Ellison had been listening for them, DiNozzo could never say but the forensic techs were just pulling in just as the three men exited the house. DiNozzo wisely snagged one of the forensics team on the basis that they could help collect any, and all, evidence that Sandburg might lead them too.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

With one of the crime scene techs along to photograph, bag and tag, Sandburg led Gibbs and DiNozzo along East 22nd street. A cracked marble mortar sat in the middle of the footpath, with few small fragments of glass from the broken kitchen window, on the north side of the house; no traces of blood could be seen and the surface of the mortar was no conducive to holding fingerprints. A partial boot print, heel only, was found where the garden bed met the footpath.

"How tall do you think the man was?" DiNozzo asked while the scene tech marking off the area around to boot print.

"Five ten, five eleven," Sandburg replied after a moments thought. "He was of a slightly more than medium build; moved like he knew how to fight too."

Raised eyebrows from Gibbs, DiNozzo and the tech -- who was on his mobile phone requesting assistance -- had Sandburg explaining, "Jim works out regularly with a couple of guys at the precinct."

"And," DiNozzo wanted to know how that explained the 'moved like he knew how to fight' comment.

"Okay, Jim's an ex-ranger; he moves a lot like Gibbs here," Sandburg nodded at the NCIS agent. "You, on the other hand, move like a runner. It's habit, I tend to pick up on that sort of body language, being short, Jewish, and a long haired hippy-freak I've gotten very good at spotting who knows how to fight and who doesn't."

DiNozzo wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or not. Sandburg had pegged him as a runner whereas he'd pegged Gibbs as a fighter. Still, one look at Gibbs and maybe it wasn't so surprising; the agent moved in a way that said he knew more than a little about the science of pain, and the inflicting of said.

"Anyway, it was something in the way he kept balanced on his feet as he walked. Like a boxer, always ready to step, duck and weave."

"Anything else you remember?"

"He seemed fairly aware of where he was putting his feet."

Sandburg's comment about the perp's awareness of where he trod was born out as he led Gibbs, DiNozzo and two more scene techs who had joined them, down St. Paul Street. Just past St. Marks Church another partial boot print was found in the tree bed closest to the corner of St. Paul and East 20th.

Another of the techs was left to mark off the area and take a casting of the print while Sandburg showed them where the perpetrator crossed East North Avenue on the west side before walking in front of the KFC. What might have been another partial boot prints was located in front of the KFC but the sheer volume of foot traffic meant that proving it was from their suspect would be difficult. No other sign of the perpetrator passing was found as they walked along East North Avenue and turned south down Greenmount Avenue. Sandburg eventually led them to the entrance of the Greenmount West Cemetery where Sandburg indicated a set of short, shrubby bushes hard up against the bluestone wall.

"Tony," Sandburg walked up to the third bush with his hands weaving in front of him, out of sight of the forensic tech who was currently complaining about being treated like a pack horse. "You can just see the butt of a shotgun here," Blair spoke in a low tone that was almost a command.

Tony noticed that the color of the shrub was almost the same as the wood grain of the gun's butt. If Sandburg hadn't pointed it out he doubted he would have spotted it at all. What Tony didn't know was that if Sandburg hadn't pointed the gun out he'd never have seen it; Sandburg wasn't about to enlighten DiNozzo to that fact however. Calling the tech over, DiNozzo pulled on a pair of latex gloves and prepared to lift the gun from its resting place.

The tech, camera in hand, took several photographs as DiNozzo pulled the weapon from the bush; a model 21 Winchester side-by-side barreled shotgun. The smell of gun powder indicating recent firing; that, and the slight scorching on the leaves from when the still hot weapon had been pushed into the shrub. About a third of the way between the stock and barrel tip melted plastic could be seen fused to the barrel. "Maybe we'll get luck and be able to lift a print or two off the plastic." DiNozzo sounded hopeful.

"But whose?" Gibbs throwing cold water on the idea.

"We'll have to wait till we talked to Jim," Sandburg reminded the men that they had a witness to the guns firing.

"Then we'd better get back, hadn't we? Unless there is anything more you can show us, Sandburg." Gibbs fired the question off.

"Nope, I lost him not long after he ducked inside the cemetery," Sandburg explained without mentioning that the real reason he'd lost the perp at that pointed was the time it had taken to make sure no-one else removed the weapon from the perp's hiding place.

"Well, with luck Bunka's finished with Ellison."

"And still alive," Sandburg quipped, after all he knew Jim of old and he hadn't been in a good mood when they'd left. Actually, Blair was more worried about the ME's safety, "Your ME, he wouldn't start asking Jim questions, would he?" Sandburg asked Gibbs as the older man fell instep beside him.

"Why, worried Ellison might say something he shouldn't?" Gibbs was fairly certain that wasn't why Sandburg asked the question but he wanted to see how the young man fielded it.

"No, I'm more worried about whether or not you'll still have an ME if he pushed Jim."

"Then we'd better get back quickly, hadn't we."

"Oh, shit."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It didn't take Bunka long to take down Ellison's statement. Jim had long since perfected the art of the minimalist answer. "I broke though the front door. I saw two men fighting; Ted was holding a shotgun trying to aim it at a second man while the second man, identity unknown, was wrestling with the barrel of the gun. The second man managed to force the barrel down and towards Ted's head. I yelled, identifying myself as a police officer. Neither man stopped fighting over the gun. I don't know if Ted pulled the trigger or if the second man did as the trigger mechanism was out of my line of sight. Two shots were fired then the second man turned and fled toward the kitchen. The second man used a mortar bowl to break the window and he escaped out the side. I saw Blair following up the side of the house. I went and attempted to provide first aid to Ted."

Short, just the facts. No mention was made of the blinding headache that resulted from two quick shotgun succession while his hearing was dialed up. Nor did he comment about the fact that he knew both victims were dead and beyond help before he'd followed the perpetrator towards the kitchen. He also failed to comment on the fact that he'd taken as deep a breath as possible in an attempt to 'scent' the perp; the switchman case had taught him the value of smell, even if only for exculpatory purposes. Jim definitely didn't make any comment about getting caught in the pretty patterns of light that refracted through the broken glass; he knew Sandburg was going to have his ass for that stunt.

Short, however, could not be said for the time it took to process the scene. The forensic techs that remained, after Blair and company had commandeered three of their company, were actually glad of the presence of one Detective Ellison. Bunka and Turner were both more than happy to leave the crawling around to the younger, more flexible, techs but that had left the techs seriously short handed. Still, a polite comment -- Jim was capable of those when he chose to be -- and a promise not to actually touch anything, and Jim was dragooned into assisting.

Extending his hearing and keeping it locked onto his partner acted as enough of an anchor that Ellison was able to let his superior senses of sight and touch loose. With Jim's assistance the tech were able to locate where the shooter had probably been when he'd shot Lt. Kirby; two very small dints in the wooden floor where the shell casing had hit the floor. Also found was a shoe print that didn't match any of the shoes in the house, a couple of tufts of wool fibre caught on a protruding nail near the back door and a partial hand where a mortar and pestle had rested in the kitchen. Unfortunately the print was a side print, no finger tips. The tufts, on the other hand, carried the same scent that Jim had picked up in the kitchen, reinforcing the sense memory.

Further careful searching also located the two shotgun casings but no sign could be found of the metal casings for the bullets used to shoot Lt. Kirby. While the forensics personnel dealt with the scene the Baltimore ME quietly and efficiently dealt with Ted Williams' corpse conferring occasionally with the NCIS ME.

When both bodies were almost ready for transport the Baltimore ME approached Turner to clarify who was taking whom, and where. Turner, with his department, already back logged, had already decided that if the Navy cops were going to be involved he may as well make use of the fact. Two other homicides this morning already awaited Turner's ME so if he could palm Williams off he was going too. Ducky, on hearing the suggestion was more than happy to take over; it meant one less turf war; Gibbs would have wanted both bodies.

With most of the forensics handled Captain Turner would have preferred to head back to the station but the man hadn't mad captain by being a fool. Whether or not DiNozzo was correct in his suspicions that this was part of a serial, unlikely as far as Turner and Bunka were concerned, this case had crossed into Fed territory. Unfortunately, for Turner, Bunka would never be the first choice for primary if they had to deal with the Feds. While the scene had been processed Turner had called in a few favors and had gotten the low down on Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. One fact stood out amongst all the others; Gibbs _would_ be taking the case whether Baltimore wanted to hand it over or not.

As for Sandburg and Ellison; Bunka couldn't have picked a better way to attempt career suicide if he'd tried. Turner wasn't going to be making any sucker bets with anyone of the Sandburg and Ellison front. If DiNozzo hadn't mentioned his suspicions about a possible serial killer in Baltimore to Sandburg then Bunka was going to waving the GLAD banner at the next policeman's ball.

Now there was another problem in the making. The military had 'don't ask, don't tell, don't pursue'; which didn't work too well either but at least there was a policy. The police departments, unlike the military, didn't really have a policy. The PD's, Baltimore included, also had more than one dinosaur on the books; bigoted dinosaurs. The current issue for Turner was that, while no one had actually come out and said anything, reading between the lines there was a lot more between Sandburg and Ellison than just the fraternal order of police. Still, with the pair's impressive close rate no one was saying anything in Cascade but here in Baltimore. . .

Turner, needing to get back to the station, almost dragged Bunka into one of the back rooms of the house. Away from prying eyes the Captain took the opportunity to acquaint his subordinate with the house rules for this investigation. Bunka might me the senior detective in the Bunka-DiNozzo pair but DiNozzo had the better people skills. Also, if the rumors circulating around the station about DiNozzo's sexuality were even remotely true then he'd be the better liaison; even if the rumors weren't true it was obvious to Turner that Gibbs, Ellison and Sandburg seemed happy to work with DiNozzo whereas they'd all completely ignored the Bunka.

Meanwhile, with events quietening down at the primary scene Jim took advantage of a lull in activity near Lt. Kirby's corpse. Jim made his way towards the medical examiner, intent of having a few words with the man before his partner returned. Gerald, a man who seemed to be able to sense danger, had almost precipitously left the room leaving Doctor Mallard to deal with the unhappy gentleman from Cascade.

"Gerald, now where has that boy gotten to?" Ducky, unaware that his life was now at risk, yelled when he noticed his assistant wasn't right beside him.

"I think he went outside, Dr. Mallard," Ellison bobbed down beside the NCIS ME. "I don't think he'll be too long."

"Ahhh. So, Detective Ellison, is there anything you'd like to talk about?" Donald Mallard had spent a few too many years observing human nature to have missed the by-play between Ellison and Sandburg earlier. He'd been about to voice his suspicions when he'd been struck by the need to sneeze, an event he was beginning to suspect had been no coincidence. The speed with which the young ex-anthropologist had left the house, Gibbs and the other detective in tow, had only increased his suspicions; particularly as the need to continue indulging the sternutatory reflex had disappeared with the anthropologist.

"I'd take it as a personal favor, Dr. Mallard, if you would not make anymore comments that might upset my partner. You have no idea of the sacrifices he has made as a result of 'going native'." Ellison might not have meant to sound so threatening. . . might, but Ducky wasn't about to bet any money on that fact. The ME had dealt with Gibbs long enough to recognize a dangerous individual not matter how hard they tried to hide the fact and Ellison wasn't even trying.

Ellison, for his part, was torn between wanting to rip the ME a new one and the need to protect the man; another thing he'd have to ask Blair about later. Like it or not, the Cascade Detective had learned the hard way that his _Sentinel_ instincts should be listened too; and those instinct were up and yelling. He couldn't place it, yet, but something about the ME was important.

"I am truly sorry, Detective Ellison. I didn't mean to upset your young guide," Ducky threw out the title carefully, watching Ellison closely. If Ducky's suspicions were correct then the Detective was more than just a detective. Blair Sandburg, the anthropologist, had written of a specialized type of human in his master's thesis, a tribal guardian or Sentinel. The same Blair Sandburg had later committed academic suicide claiming to have falsified his PhD research but up until then everything that Sandburg had published had been well research, erudite and insightful. Said Blair Sandburg now worked as _The Detective_'s partner; a coincidence, not likely.

So, was Ellison a Sentinel? Ducky hoped to find out that the Sandburg he'd admired was in fact incapable of the sort of deceit the young man had claimed on National Television. What Ducky failed to consider in his quest to satisfy his curiosity was that the person he was asking was exceedingly protective of one Blair Sandburg and would do anything to prevent his partner being put back into _that_ particular spotlight.

"While he was partnered with me Blair Sandburg wrote a novel as his way of sublimating his desire to 'go native' as it were," Ellison didn't even flinch at Dr. Mallard's use of the word Guide. "Unfortunately it was accidentally released to the public as his PhD thesis."

"And that led to him leaving academia? I would have thought that if that had all been straightened out there would have been no need for him to leave the academic world. The academic world is definitely poorer for his leaving it. Why, I remember reading a paper he wrote on the effect of television on the aggressive responses of primates. He postulated that primates were adversely affected by too much exposure to violence on television. His findings I remember were rather controversial, after all no one wants to admit that just by watching television humans are more likely to behave aggressively."

Ducky, who had failed of observe any quantifiable reaction to the use of the word _Guide_ was surprised to watch a look of fond remembrance dance across the stern features of the Cascade Detective; the man almost smiled. The murmured 'Barbary ape, not monkey' making no sense at all to the ME.

"So, his joining the police force had nothing to do with protecting his Sentinel?" Ducky pushed.

"Dr. Mallard, I suggest you do your job and leave the speculation to the investigators," Ellison leaned so far into Ducky's personal space that he may as well have taken it over. Angry at being pushed, worried because his Guide was out of sight, and confused because of the conflict between his feelings and his instinct about the ME all worked together to push Ellison toward the more primal side of his Sentinel nature. Ducky's continued questions were now registering as a threat and the Sentinel's methods of dealing with threats were simple, and extreme. If it hadn't been for the nominal control Ellison still had over his Sentinel persona Dr. Mallard would have been in need of his own serves. As it was Ellison's eyes narrowed, like a cat observing its prey, and his nostrils flared as he scented the threat. "Do not threaten my Guide."

One second Ducky feared for his life, the next he was trying to get a comatose Jim Ellison into the recovery position.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC. . .


	4. Chapter 4

The Cost of Divorce Chapter Four

Given Bunka had poured scorn on the idea that this shooting might be part of a serial, Sandburg decided to use the time during the walk back to the house on Lovegood Street to question the Baltimore detective about his suspicions. After all, Bunka wasn't here, so hopefully Tony would feel more comfortable discussing his suspicions. Also, if Tony's suspicions had any foundation in fact, then Gibbs needed to know about them as well. It was obvious that Gibbs wasn't going to let go of this case.

"Tony," Sandburg trotted forward to walk beside DiNozzo, "what makes you think this is part of a serial?" Sandburg was certain that DiNozzo was on the money; he'd read enough off the perp to get that, but he wanted to know how Tony had joined the dots.

Gibbs, hanging back, admired the view.

"We've had three homicides in Baltimore over the last three months that didn't make any sense. No family trouble, amicable long standing divorces, two were in current relationships that, according to friends and family, were heading for the matrimonial altar. If we include Kirby's death, then it is three of the four that were heading for marriage. The usual suspects didn't pan out and all the dead were double tapped, strictly professional. No common factors that I could find between the deceased except that they are divorced."

"The ex-husbands?" Gibbs, a divorcee expert, asked. Gibbs had never entertained the thought of harming any of his ex's, even Diane with the baseball bat and the cleaned out savings, but he knew of more than a few men who did.

"No contact between them at all. Almost reminded me of that Magnum episode where the women team up to kill their husbands, each providing alibis for the others when their particular husband croaked. But it's not limited to here. I put in a call to Peoria and Pittsburg since I've worked homicide there as well, and they both have the same MO's with no other explanation."

"Divorced, again?" Sandburg zeroed in on the one fact that seemed common.

"Yes, but, once again, all long standing and surprisingly amicable; at least according to statements that I was faxed."

"That kind of takes out your Magnum theory, anyway."

"Wasn't a very good theory to begin with."

"You've made your Captain aware of your thoughts?" It was obvious from Bunka's earlier comments that Tony had discussed the cases with him, but had he gone further up the food-chain?

"Captain's still old school. Three murders without any real link between the victims such as race, job, physical attributes, in a city this size? Dime-a-dozen stuff to him. I kind of get why he's reluctant to call in the Feds, no insult intended, but I've got a funny feeling about them."

"Funny feelings are what make good cops, Tony." Sandburg was more than happy to reassure the man. Sandburg was pleased to note that Gibbs was paying full attention to the Baltimore detective as well.

"Now that you've got Feds, what do you plan on doing with them?" Gibbs had liked the way DiNozzo had laid out his case. Short, to the point and Gibbs' gut was starting to churn too.

"Not sure there's much I can do. As you said, Gibbs, your Lieutenant, your case."

Gibbs had to admit he liked the way DiNozzo thought too. "So. . . I'll lead?" Gibbs smirked a little at that; DiNozzo had given him an inch, he'd take the mile.

"Anything you say. . . Boss."

Looking at the smirk DiNozzo volleyed back his way, Gibbs realized that the Baltimore detective was going to be a handful; and wasn't that a pleasant thought?

"So, Gibbs, do you want our help?" Blair, enjoying the by-play between the Detective and the Agent, used the opportunity to offer his and Ellison's help.

"If it is serial, the FBI will be bought in anyway," Gibbs mused. "If I. . . unofficially. . .ask for your assistance, will that be sufficient to keep the rest of the Hoover boys away?"

Blair had to smile at that question. Major Crimes' had had enough problems with the 'Feds' in the form of the FBI in the past that he understood where Gibbs was coming from; even if Gibbs was a 'Fed', there were Feds and then there was the FBI. "With Jim and me already on scene, I think I can talk the powers that be into handballing the analysis to us. I can always ask Jason to assign us, if you want."

"Jason?" DiNozzo didn't make a connection.

"Jason Gideon, unit chief of the FBI's Investigative Support Unit. Part of the BAU."

Blair was fairly certain that he and Jim would be given the lead on this from the serial point of view. After all, there still weren't enough people training in serial profiling. Being a profiler wasn't just a matter of having a psychology degree, it was a combination of numerous factors and Sandburg was one of the few that had them all; the education, the street smarts and the instincts.

"So, why don't we start on the assumption that I'll be your profiler, Tony, and Gibbs," that last was said to include the NCIS agent, "and go from there?"

Any further comment Sandburg might have made was cut short when his mobile phone started ringing. As they were just passing the KFC on the way back to the Lovegood Street address Blair answered the phone with the expectation that Ellison was calling to request chicken with a side order of salt and grease; it wasn't Wonderburger but it would do in a pinch. "Jim, forget it. No KFC for you, your arteries are too hard already."

The answer given was obviously not the one expected. Sandburg took off like a shot, racing across East North Avenue without even bothering to check for traffic. Gibbs watched as DiNozzo also proved he was a hell of a runner, taking off after Sandburg. Given the relative height differences, Gibbs would have expected DiNozzo to catch up to Sandburg before the shorter man rounded the corner up St. Paul Street, but whatever had been said to Sandburg must have leant the man wings. By the time Gibbs had actually reached The Seventh Baptist Church on the corner of St. Paul Street and North Avenue Sandburg was almost out of sight and still pulling ahead of DiNozzo.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ducky was to muse later that it was a good thing the front door had already been broken off its hinges. The NCIS ME felt that he had barely put Ellison's phone back down when Blair Sandburg literally slid into the room, colliding with the unconscious detective; with Blair's momentum sufficient to push the six foot plus frame of Jim Ellison almost a foot across the carpet.

Showing impeccable timing, Bunka walked back into the living room just in time to act as a backstop for the combined Sandburg/Ellison missile. Ellison didn't make a sound as his body collided with Bunka's leg before coming to a stop, resting on Bunka's feet.

Bunka looked down at the prone detective and the limpet that was Blair Sandburg. Bunka didn't look happy. He'd just been quietly reamed out by his captain; given to understand that in the name of 'inter-jurisdictional-co-operation' he was to absent his attitude, or failing that absent himself. To top it all off, the cause of Bunka's discomfort, the long-haired freak that was currently plastered over the non-responsive ex-ranger, completely ignored the fact that he'd used Bunka as a human backstop; concentrating solely on the unconscious man.

"Jim!" Sandburg might not have been panicking but he was obviously concerned. Sandburg ignored the stares and strange looks he was receiving from those still present in the living room as he methodically ran a _limited_ sense check over his partner. The presence of any strangers in the room meant that he could just pull Jim out of the zone by main force. Getting no response Sandburg finally turned to glare at the ME.

Given that Blair wasn't Gibbs, was significantly shorter than Gibbs, was obviously not a fighter, and currently almost sprawled across Ellison, Ducky should have been able to ignore the glare. He wasn't. Sandburg had Ducky pinned by twin beams of blue laser and Sandburg did not look happy.

"What. . . happened?" Blair growled, and Ducky took a step back, shaken by the _glow_, in Sandberg's eyes.

Well aware that something he'd said, or did was the reason Ellison was suddenly catatonic, Doctor Mallard decided that the truth probably wasn't the best option right at that moment. Apart from the fact that Bunka wasn't looking too happy at the tableau at his feet, and had most likely just been corrected by his superiors, judging by the sour expression on his face, any indication that Ellison might not be fit for duty was likely to mean the precipitous end of one ME's career as well. Looking at the Guide, Ducky realized that the wrong answer might not just end the ME's career, either.

Taking advantage of Sandburg's snarked comment about KFC and grease when he'd rung the young man, Doctor Mallard decided on the safer diagnosis. "I believe that Detective Ellison is suffering from low blood sugar."

"So, the super cop can drop." Bunka took the opportunity to vent a little. Bunka would have said more, but Sandburg transferred his gaze from the ME to the Baltimore cop; Bunka wisely shut up and left the room.

Ducky, attempting to lighten the atmosphere as Turner wandered back into the living room, began to ramble, "Even the strongest sometime succumb to fainting if they haven't eaten sufficient calories, why I remember a time when Agent Gibbs got so caught up in a case that he forgot to eat for nearly 48 hours. After a few somewhat pointed comments on my part, he promised me that he would consume something. An hour later, I went to get a thesis from my extensive library on blunt weapon morphology. . . fascinating subject, you know, and I found him face down in a full bowl of. . ."

"That's enough, Duck." Saved by the Gibbs.

"Gibbs?" Blair looked up to see the NCIS agent stepping into the room behind DiNozzo. Both men looked flushed, which, considering how hard it had been to keep up with the pocket rocket, aka Sandburg, that wasn't surprising. "Tony," Sandburg looked a little more relaxed once he'd focused on the younger detective, "catch."

Luckily for everyone Tony was the athlete that Blair had pegged him for. DiNozzo easily snatching the set of keys that Blair had thrown. "Hey, what am I, your errand boy?" DiNozzo asked with a laugh.

"Just get the leather backpack out of our sedan out the front, please." Sandburg was obviously too worried about his partner to play the game.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs tried out a level glare one on DiNozzo; it bounced. "Just get the damn backpack. I think Sandburg wants my help dealing with Ducky."

Gibbs had called it right. The ME made Sandburg nervous for some reason and the last thing he needed right now was for the ME to start in with any more of his incessant but insightful babbling. There were more than enough witnesses that anything else Blair might have done to shut the man up was going to be remembered.

"What happened here?" Turner demanded an update; the Captain in the man well aware that the tableau before him might be his best chance keeping control of the case in the hands of the Baltimore PD.

"Low blood sugar," Sandburg stated definitively. Ducky had given him a diagnosis that was safe, so that diagnosis would stand.

"Does this happen often, Dr. Sandburg?" Ducky, the doctor not the ME, had to ask.

"Only when I let him get away with grease and a side order of cholesterol for breakfast followed by a caffeine chaser."

"Ah, yes. I know one or two gentlemen who seem to think that man can live of caffeine alone." Ducky sympathized with Sandburg. The look that Dr. Mallard gave Gibbs spoke volumes.

Turner stifled a laugh. If DiNozzo had been in the room he'd have been the one Turner would have looked at in the same way that Ducky was looking at Gibbs.

"Yes, well, when Tony gets back with my pack, I'll feed Jim a couple of granola bars and a banana. That ought to get him going again." Blair, ignoring the eyeball conversations above his head, had started to rub slow circles just above the carotid artery in an attempt to use touch to bring Jim out of the zone.

Betting either sight or smell had been the sense that Jim had zoned on the Guide added _sound_ to the mix of senses he was using to draw his partner home. Taste would have to wait until Tony returned with his backpack. Dropping the volume of his voice down to sentinel level Blair tried to seduce his Sentinel's attention, utterly unaware that one other person in the room could follow what was being said. _"Jim, I swear, next time Gideon sets up a two week course I'm demanding on-base housing for us, man. Two weeks and no privacy at all, that's it isn't it? Your Blair level's getting low? What if we skip out on the Johns Hopkins and find ourselves somewhere quiet and secluded? You ready to play hide the spear. . ."_

'Well, that answers that question,' Gibbs thought to himself as he 'listened' to Sandburg. The problem was Sandburg's comments were starting to sound like phone sex and that was making the NCIS agent uncomfortable, in more ways than one. Gibbs was saved from embarrassment when he heard DiNozzo walking in the front door.

"Sandburg," Gibbs snapped, "DiNozzo's back. What do you want from that back pack?"

"Just hand me the back pack," Sandburg requested as DiNozzo walked into the room. "I've been told putting your hand in there is like putting your hand in any woman's handbag, you know, dangerous because you'll never know what might bite you." The scary thing, though Sandburg wasn't about to admit it in _mixed_ company, was there was more than an element of truth to the statement. Reaching in, Sandburg grabbed out a bottle of liquid that could have been glucose syrup. It wasn't, but Blair was not about to tell Ducky exactly what it contained.

"Let me give you a hand," DiNozzo squatted down beside Ducky and between the two of them they soon had Ellison sitting upright enough that Blair could pour some of his _glucose_ down Jim's throat.

Taste did it.

Ellison was suddenly spluttering and cursing as the combined flavors of saliva, plasma, sweat and semen -- all courtesy of Blair Sandburg -- seemingly exploded on his tongue.

"Fuck, Sandburg. I told you never to use that stuff again."

"Well if you'd take better care of yourself and not let your blood sugar drop so low that you start fainting again maybe I wouldn't have to." Blair snapped at his partner telling him exactly what story they were using for the zone.

"Oh, shit, Chief." Ellison tried to look contrite, tried. "Hand over the granola bars then."

"You okay, Detective Ellison?" Turner asked as the ranking member of the PD present. "Or do we need to get you home?" The rather unsubtle attempt to wrest control of the case back into Baltimore PD's control was ignored by all other present.

"Nope, I'll be fine just as soon as I get something in my stomach." Ellison grimaced around the ultra-healthy, ultra-bland oat bar that Sandburg had pressed into his hand. The look he was giving his partner implied payback could wait.

"Fine, then we had better finish sorting out jurisdiction for this case." Turner looked at the men in the room and realized that it had already been sorted without his input. "DiNozzo," Turner started to speak to his detective.

"Will be with me," Gibbs overrode any possible objection. "Sandburg, you mentioned something about talking to Jason."

"I can give him a call if you want."

"Call him. Ducky, get our victims back to NCIS. DiNozzo, you said you had some files."

Ellison rolled his eyes as he watched Gibbs take charge; some things never changed. Still, Gibbs had the best shot at controlling jurisdiction and the man was likely to be a good cop; he'd been a damn good Marine and MP so Ellison wasn't about to fight him on this.

Blair just sat back and watched as the NCIS agent took control; he'd let the man run things for now, Blair recognized that his expertise wasn't needed just yet. While the other men continued sorting out the who, what, where and when for the rest of the day, Blair grabbed his mobile and rang Jason Gideon knowing Jim would listen in.

"Jason," The phone was answered on the second ring. "It's Blair Sandburg."

_"What's up that you're calling on your day off, Blair? You haven't managed to get into trouble again."_

"Hey, one time, one time only and you and every other profiler brings it up. No I haven't gotten into trouble at Johns Hopkins."

_"Why? Let me guess: because you never made it there?"_

There were times when Blair really, really, really loathed his 'trouble magnet' label. That Blair always managed to end up in trouble of some sort or another was beside the point. Jim laughing as he shamelessly listened in on the conversation didn't help. "No, we didn't make it to Johns Hopkins."

_"Blair, are you both all right?"_

"Why the concern, Gideon? Worried you'll lose one of your best lecturers?"

_"Stop trying to distract me, Blair. You should know by now it won't work."_ Gideon sounded more than a little smug to Blair's, and Jim's, ears,

"Okay," Blair acquiesced needing Jason on side. "We're both fine. It's just we're caught up here with a homicide, two deceased. But it's _not_ our fault! Anyway, to cut a long story short -- shut up Jim -- sorry Jason, but Jim's listening in. . ."

_"And he couldn't resist yanking your chain."_

"Yep. Anyway, one of the locals thinks that one of the homicides might be part of a serial and listening to his preliminary breakdown I'm inclined to agree."

_"One of them?"_

"Look's like the original victim's partner arrived home sometime during, or soon after the first shooting. Jim made it into the house just in time to see the unsub shoot the second victim and escape via the kitchen."

_"Ah. Let me guess. Seeing as you are on site anyway and there's only two more days of the course which I, or Hotch, could cover, you'd like the option to act as primary?"_

"It may not be anything, but I'm here anyway."

_"Blair, your instincts for serial offenders is almost supernatural. At last count you, and Jim, have stumbled into three other serials that we hadn't gotten near to tagging. If you think there is something there, then I'd concur. I'll clear it with the Bureau and Simon, though your boss isn't going to be too happy with me."_

"Thanks, Jason."

_"Don't thank me just do that voodoo that you do so well. And Blair, remember you can use the Bureau's resources as you need. I'll fax through the authorizations, so numbers please?"_

Turning to the group still in the living room Blair requested, and was given, contact numbers for NCIS and the Baltimore PD.

"I'll text the numbers to you Jason."

_"Okay, take care, kid."_

"So, Jason?" Turner asked hoping that the hippy detective wasn't talking about the Jason Gideon of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. If Sandburg was talking about _that _Jason Gideon, then Turner and his department could kiss goodbye any chance of keeping any jurisdiction on this case.

"Jason Gideon, part of the FBI's BAU. He's willing to let Jim and I run as primaries for the BAU side of things if this turns out to be a serial." Blair explained to those who didn't have Sentinel hearing and as a result only heard half the conversation.

"And if it's not?" Turner felt he had to make the point.

"Then Jim and I finish up our witness statements and you can fight jurisdiction out with him", Blair happily pointed at the NCIS agent prowling the room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rounding everyone up and into cars didn't take long, though there was a rather significant discussion about where to send the evidence that forensics had bagged and tagged. Turner wanted it all to go the Baltimore's lab, DiNozzo tried to mediate and suggest the items specifically associated with Willams death go the Baltimore while those unknown or associated with Kirby's go to the NCIS. Gibbs didn't bother to negotiate; everything was going to NCIS and that was that. Blair was almost tempted to suggest taking everything up to Quantico but decided it wasn't time to pull rank, yet.

"You know, Jim, Gibbs negotiates as well as you do," Blair mock whispered (loudly) to his partner. The young Cascade Detective then grinned like a maniac when four sets of eyes turned towards him, completely unfazed by the attention. Not so strangely the owners of only three of the sets of eyes actually got the message; bluster all you want but control isn't settled yet.

"Captain Turner," Blair wasn't about to take control but he could mediate things into a position where he could ensure that all the little ducks were just where he'd need them when he did. "How backlogged is your forensics department?"

Turner wasn't happy at the question; the answer was _very_, like any police department. Now, if Dinozzo was right, and Turner was beginning to think the Dinozzo was, then holding onto the evidence out of petty spite would come back and bite him once the press got a hold of that fact. That didn't mean he was going to bow out gracefully. "I can always order a rush job, if necessary."

"Festina lente, Captain, we might be better served by making haste slowly," Blair countered before he turned to face Gibbs. "Your forensics people, Agent Gibbs, how backlogged are they likely to be?"

"I've got a full time forensic tech assigned to me."

"That doesn't answer my question," Blair pushed, after all he had a full time, human crime lab with organic surveillance equipment as a partner and even he still had to rely on Cascade's forensic lab.

"Abby's the best you'll ever work with."

"Abby Sciuto?"

"Yes."

_"Shit, Jim. We are so screwed," Sentinel soft for Jim's ears only._

Gibbs, reading Sandburg's lips, had to wonder why the man was worried. Thinking about it though, the answer was fairly obvious; Abby's eclectic interests and phenomenal memory meant she'd work out the Ellison-Sandburg secret in very short order. The idea that Abby worried the very sure profiler brought a smile to Gibbs' face After all, so far Sandburg seemed to be taking almost everything in stride. It was nice to know the wonder-kid could be fazed.

Turner finally accepted defeat. The forensics would go to NCIS, that or the Baltimore Captain feared the hippy would just have everything sent to the Feds. "Far be it for me to not use the best when the best is available."

"Tony," now that forensics was taken care of, and ignoring the aura of quiet satisfaction that Gibbs was projecting, Blair looked at Dinozzo and smiled. "How about we all head for your office first, you said you had files pertaining to the other cases you suspect are linked."

"Yes, I've got them."

"Cool," Blair was almost vibrating, "the sooner we get there the sooner I can look them over and see if you are right."

Handing the entire set of bagged and tagged items to Ducky didn't take long. The ME had worked long enough with Gibbs to anticipate that the ex-marine wasn't going to let any of the evidence out of NCIS control. Dr. Mallard also had the gift of the gab and had used almost the same set of arguments that Blair had used inside to convince the head forensic tech on scene to just group everything together and wait until jurisdiction was sorted rather than start heading back East Fayette Street all the evidence.

"Duck," Gibbs yelled as he headed towards his sedan, "get all that back to Abby. I want initial reports as soon as possible."

"Yes, Jethro," Ducky commented to the empty parking space; Gibbs having peeled out and floored it with his usual impatience.

"Is he always like that?" Tony asked the ME as he walked over to the sedan where Bunka was waiting.

"No, most times he's worse," The ME smiled remembering some of the horror stories that circulated around NCIS about Gibbs and his driving. Gibbs' caffeine addiction was the other topic of gossip about the silver haired agent that was safe at the office.

"Great," Tony cringed a little, "and I just got volunteered to work with him. Better make sure my life insurance is up to date."

"I can assure you young man that you are perfectly safe with Agent Gibbs," Ducky attempted to reassure the young man. "Gibbs has never been in an accident in all the time I've known him."

"And he always drives like that?"

"As I said before, Tony, normally he's much worse."

Sandburg, who was happily listening in on the conversation -- and well aware that Jim would be eavesdropping too -- just couldn't pass up that chance to rib his partner. "See, Jim, it is possible to drive like a maniac and NOT total the truck."

Knowing the futility of the action, Ellison still aimed a head slap at his Sandburg; Blair, as expected, ducked under the blow and raced off towards the rental sedan the two were driving. "Too slow, man, far too slow," Blair laughed as he made it to the driver's side door.

"You'll get yours, Chief, you'll get yours," Ellison growled as he walked slowly towards the sedan.

"Promises, promises," Sandburg chirped though he raised one eyebrow as he watched Jim dragging his feet.

The problem for Jim was he didn't really want to be locked in close confinement with Sandburg at the moment. He was actually wondering if he could get away with asking DiNozzo for a lift, anything to avoid the interrogation he knew was waiting behind Blair's calm façade. Three zones in less than 3 hours would be worrying the Guide and Shaman.

"What if I promise not to bite?" Blair whispered as he realized why Ellison was delaying getting into the car. "I don't think DiNozzo's going to leave without us and I have the feeling that if we are too long getting back to the Baltimore PD Gibbs is just going to take off and head back for NCIS, possible serial be damned."

There were times when Ellison really loathed his partner's ability to read people. Sandburg had pegged Gibbs probably better than Gibbs realized too. At least that was one saving grace; Jim could look forward to Gibbs finally being out Alpha-ed. Unfortunately that would have to wait. There was a _conversation_ pending.

Ducky and Tony, watching the original antics, smiled briefly at each other. It was obvious that Sandburg and Ellison worked closely together, the chemistry visible for anyone to see. But, as it became obvious that Ellison wasn't in a hurry to join his partner in the car the ME and the Baltimore detective began to wonder what else was going on. Almost simultaneously, Ducky and DiNozzo realized that Ellison was actually afraid to be in the car, alone, with the smaller man; a fact which frankly boggled them both.

"Do you want ride with us, Detective Ellison?" Tony offered. "No need to take your vehicle through downtown traffic if it's not necessary."

It didn't take a genius to see that Ellison was seriously considering the offer. It didn't take a genius to see that Sandburg was also well aware of that fact.

"Jim, get in the car." The tone could have frozen Mercury.

Ellison, with no other options, complied.

Sharing a look of commiseration, Ducky and DiNozzo finally parted, and headed for their respective transportation. Ducky, with Gerald and all the physical evidence from the scene heading back to NCIS. DiNozzo, acting as the chauffeur to the 'senior' detective, meanwhile had to head back to his office at the Baltimore PD where he had dragons and Gibbs to battle.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Okay, Jim," Blair finally drove off down East 22nd Street following the sedan DiNozzo and Bunka were riding in.

Sandburg appeared to be concentrating on driving in a strange city. Jim knew different; Sandburg could concentrate on more than one thing at a time.

"I zoned, I know, again." Ellison had a rule somewhat like Jethro Gibbs rule 18 of _it's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission_, namely going on the attack is the best defense.

"But on what?" Blair actually looked more than a little worried. "That crack about not playing hide the spear aside you haven't zoned like that in a long time, Jim. Okay, sight this morning could be put down to the fact that we haven't had enough _us_ time, and yes I'm going to have words with Jason about housing next time. My playing with time perception, let's be honest I don't think you've ever come out of that without zoning; I kind of wish I knew how to deal with that. I mean. . ."

"Sandburg," Jim interrupted before his partner went off on a tangent; or more precisely another tangent.

"Fine, Jim. But you don't zone when we go spirit walking so there has to be something else about the time perceptions stuff that causes you to zone and I really need to sort that out as well." Blair grumbled as he pulled into St. Paul Street. "But that still doesn't answer the question of what you zoned on, man, while I was out with Gibbs and DiNozzo."

Jim had a fairly good idea what he'd zoned on. Unfortunately, only having a fairly good idea about what he's zoned on meant a number of problems for Ellison. The first problem was did he really want to tell Sandburg? The second problem was he wasn't sure, and this was a situation in which he needed to be sure _sure_ before he said anything. Finally, and not the least of his problems, Sandburg was like a pit-bull when it came to problems with his senses.

Prevaricate, obfuscate or plead the fifth. Not exactly a great set of choices but obfuscation won; at least he could justify that in terms of the actual case and the evidence available. "Smell, okay Sandburg. I zoned on smell."

"Smell?"

"There wasn't much of 'normal' forensic value in the house, Blair." Jim started explaining. "Whoever the unsub is he's careful, very careful. I found where the shooter probably stood when he shot Lt. Kirby but that was only because I felt the dints in the floor where the shell casing had landed; no casing however. Apart from one shoe print that didn't match any of the shoes in the house and a couple of tufts of wool fibre caught on a nail there was nothing to find."

"But, smell?"

"The wool fibers, Chief," now for the obfuscation, "I think they are from the jacket the unsub was wearing. The scent wasn't that of Kirby or Williams."

"Nice pickup, Jim," Blair started smiling.

Jim was fairly certain that Blair was remembering the very first case they'd ever worked together; scent had been the key then as well. He was proved corrected moments later when Blair commented, "just like the Switchman, hey?"

Jim smiled back at his partner, "Yeah, Chief. Just like the Switchman case." Who said you couldn't occasionally out obfuscate the master obfuscator?

"Okay, so apart from scent, is there anything else that stood out?" Blair took the lure, his focus apparently snapping back onto the case. Following behind DiNozzo, Blair swung the sedan off at St. Paul Street onto East Baltimore Street ignoring the directions the in car GPS was giving; it had suggested turning off St. Paul Street onto Calvert Place and when Sandburg hadn't the GPS began instructing him to turn east into East Fayette Street -- into oncoming traffic as East Fayette Street was a one-way street, west to east. "Mapping software, can't have a GPS without them, can get where you're going with them," Blair chuckled.

DiNozzo's vehicle led them along East Baltimore Street past North Gay Street before it turned right into the Baltimore PD's parking garage. Blair had to stop his sedan behind DiNozzo's when the Baltimore detective pulled up next to the control booth. A few comments were obviously passed back and forth between DiNozzo and the officer manning the booth before DiNozzo drove into the garage. The officer manning the booth waved Blair through indicating he was to follow DiNozzo and to park the vehicle in to space next to the one DiNozzo parked in.

Bunka was out of the vehicle and heading for the elevator almost before Tony had brought the car to a full stop. DiNozzo wasn't insulted, really; he was rather used to Bunka's lack of tact and people skills. The fact that Bunka had spent most of the journey from the crime scene back to the PD complaining about hippy freaks and fainting cops had made for an interesting journey; not. DiNozzo, even without an audience, had to admit to himself that most of the cop movies got it wrong; missed matched partners sucked.

"Welcome to Baltimore, PD," DiNozzo commented as Sandburg and Ellison got out of the rental and followed him towards the elevator. "I'm assumed you'd both be carrying so, with the Captain's permission, I got it okayed for you to enter the station and keep your weapons on you. Don't make me regret it." DiNozzo might look all lanky and frat boy but he had a core of steel and he let it show through for a moment. He needn't have worried though; Sandburg and Ellison had already worked out there was a lot more to the detective than first impressions suggested.

"You can't take Sandburg's most deadly weapon off him anyway," Jim yanked DiNozzo's chain just a little.

"Really," DiNozzo snapped back still a little pissed over Bunka's antics. "My PD, my rules."

Blair started laughing at that. "Sorry, that is so mini-Gibbs, man," but realizing that he was only antagonizing DiNozzo, Sandburg hastened to explain. "Jim's yanking your chain."

"Really," DiNozzo could do the raised eyebrow interrogative when he needed to.

"What Sandburg isn't saying is that while he followed me around as an observer for four years, getting kidnapped, held hostage, beaten up and generally acting as a trouble magnet, he never carried a gun. Instead he used baseballs, ball bearings, a fire hose, on one memorable occasion a flare pistol, and most notably his intelligence as a weapon."

"Aww, you say the nicest things," Blair quipped to ease the embarrassment quotient in the air.

"Anyway, you can disarm him but unless you actually knock him out he's dangerous. Just warning you."

DiNozzo's interrogative eyebrow was soon joined by the other eyebrow, heading for the top of his head, as Jim had listed some of Blair's exploits. If, what the senior Cascade detective was saying was true then taking his gun off him wouldn't make Sandburg any less dangerous.

Given the Sandburg was the shortest of the Cascade pair. Still looked enough like a hippy that 'cop' was not the first, second or third thought you'd have on spotting him in a crowd, and, when standing beside Ellison -- ex-Army Ranger, six foot plus and buff almost beyond belief -- Sandburg looked somewhat wimpy the idea that Ellison was warning him about Sandburg being dangerous was almost ludicrous, almost. That was, until you actually looked at Sandburg, then, if Sandburg actually let you, like he was with DiNozzo at the moment, then you'd see that Sandburg was the most dangerous of the pair.

"Hiding in plain sight," DiNozzo commented cryptically.

Blair just nodded his head once before he smiled at DiNozzo. Both men had their public faces; those faces told only what they wanted told.

"This way," DiNozzo took the lead as he escorted Sandburg and Ellison to the front desk. "We'll collect Gibbs and then I'll take you up to my humble abode."

"Wonder if it's anything like ours," Blair stage whispered playing along with DiNozzo. Blair was really starting to like the Baltimore detective, so much so that he was already looking for the main chance to help Karma along. Gibbs looked like a good choice, but Blair intended to watch a bit first.

Ellison, somewhat more in turn with his partner, looked sideways at Sandburg. "What's going on in that mind of yours, Chief?"

"Just some Karma balancing, Jim, just some Karma balancing."

"Well wait till we finish up here, won't you," Ellison almost pleaded. "Remember Chicago."

Whatever comment Sandburg might have made was drowned out by the sounds of a 'discussion' issuing from the area of the Baltimore PD's front desk.

"Sounds like Gibbs arrived safely," DiNozzo dead-panned.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC. . .


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The discussion that could be heard wasn't a discussion at all; it was the tail end of a short, but vicious, fight.

Gibbs had driven to the Baltimore PD at his normal breakneck speed, parking with ease in front of the PD's doors. Luck might have had something to do with that, but being Gibbs, it may well have been an example of the Universe, using all the sense nature had provided, aligning the stars such that as Gibbs drove down East Fayette Street, a police cruiser pulled out leaving that particular free parking space right in front of the doors. Even Universes have a sense of self-preservation.

Gibbs, striding into the PD like he owned the building, had been confronted by the normal chaos that was a busy precinct. In his usual take-no-prisoners approach, he marched to the front desk and _requested_ directions to the Homicide squad room.

The desk sergeant, a veteran of many years, took exception to the tone of the request and just as politely _requested_ that Gibbs wait until he had time to get an escort sent down from Homicide. The blissfully-unaware Sgt. Conners then turned back to finish the conversation he'd been having with a colleague ignorant of the fact that his life expectancy was fast approaching zero. Anyone from NCIS would have said that ignoring Gibbs was tantamount to ignoring the voice of God and likely to have similar consequences. In this case, the only thing that prevented Gibbs going biblical on the clueless sergeant was the fact that two uniformed officers were suddenly in need of assistance.

The two uniformed officers, McKinley and Maudin, had been escorting a young man, Salvatore Conti -- six foot two and built like a line-backer -- down to booking when said perp had managed to break loose. Conti was now attempting to flee the station, bulldozing his way through any impediments to his escape; to whit: desks, chairs, uniforms. Conti, apart from the shoplifting offences for which he was being charged, was currently acting as a drugs courier. When Maudin had made a comment about needing a full body search in an attempt to rattle the Conti's composure, the young officer succeeded far beyond his expectations.

Conti had quickly swallowed two of the PCP tablets he was carrying with the expected consequences; namely Conti had gone berserk. A vicious round house punch to Maudin's kidney felled the officer and created enough confusion in the booking area to give Conti a much needed distraction. Breaking away from the arresting officers, Conti ran back up the hall between the PD's front entrance and the booking area.

Unfortunately for Conti, his escape from justice was extremely short-lived, as he ran straight into the fist of one very disgruntled ex-gunnery sergeant.

By the time three officers made it up the hall from Booking and Conners' had locked down the front entrance, Gibbs had Salvatore subdued. The PCP-high that Conti was riding had done little to put Gibbs at a disadvantage, though Conti had still managed to land a couple of solid blows. Conner, watching on, decided that he would later be lighting a couple of candles at his church in thanks to the Lord for deflecting Gibbs' temper. He was about to volunteer to personally escort Gibbs up to Homicide, when the PD garage elevator opened to reveal the other three Horsemen; Tony DiNozzo followed by Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg.

"Typical," Ellison snorted as he surveyed the entrance area. "You know, Chief," the next comment addressed to Blair, "it looks like you can hand over the mantle of trouble magnet."

"Geez, Jim," Blair combined the interrogative eyebrow with an eye roll as he looked at his partner. "You think? On second thoughts, don't answer that."

"Agent Gibbs," Tony continued to walk towards Gibbs, as Conti was led away by four very large officers, "I see you've been busy. I thought you would have been up in Homicide harassing my colleagues by now."

"I would have been," Gibbs growled, showing no indication that the spectacular bruise forming on his right cheek bothered him at all. "But your desk sergeant," and how Gibbs managed to make _desk sergeant_ sound like an insult made those present go a little white, "wouldn't let me go up."

"Conner," Tony turned to smile at the man now positively cowering behind the front desk. "Surely you didn't keep Agent Gibbs waiting down here? I'm sure that Michaels, Trenton or Auer could have kept Agent Gibbs out of trouble." DiNozzo cocked his head to the side as he looked back at the carnage. "Uhh, maybe not. Come on Gibbs, why don't you join us upstairs in my palatial office." Ignoring everyone else, Tony then led Gibbs back to the elevator where Jim and Blair were already waiting.

"Do not say a _word_, Ellison." Gibbs attempted a force-four glare, but he already knew it had failed miserably when Sandburg piped up, "can I say anything?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The ride up in the elevator was short and quiet. The short proved a blessing.

Gibbs was not admitting by word or deed that he was feeling the after-affects of the short fracas he'd been involved in; he just leaned against the wall and tried not to breathe too deeply.

Tony, surprisingly in tune with a man he'd only just met, said nothing as he watched the level indicator change as they approached the seventh floor. Tony was aware that Gibbs was hurting more than he let on, but smart enough to realize that pointing that fact out might be detrimental to his own health.

Jim's temper, meanwhile, was fast approaching explosive. Jim had decided they'd had enough surprises for the day and was monitoring the building, Homicide in particular. He had already located Bunka's voice; but that proved to be a mixed blessing as Bunka was currently regaling his colleagues with _his_ version of the morning's events.

Of the four in the elevator -- the elevator had stopped at the third floor but the female constable intending to ride up to the tenth floor had taken one look at the men and decided to wait for the next car, an eternity if necessary -- Blair was the worst off. Blair was caught between two competing imperatives; healing versus Sentinel care. Gibbs was actually hurt much more than the ex-marine even realized and it didn't take Guide or Shaman skill to see Jim doing a fair imitation of unstable dynamite. The reason for Jim's aggravation soon became clear the moment they arrived at the seventh floor. As the elevator door slide open they could all hear Bunka sounding off.

". . . and you should see the little hippy fag that was tailing around after Ellison."

"Shit, Bunka, you had better be kidding. I knew Ellison in the rangers; no way is he gay. Hell, if he heard you say stuff like that he'd break you in two."

"Maybe, maybe not, but the little hippy was definitely panting after Ellison's ass." Bunka changed tack, slightly. Apparently the unknown person who knew Ellison was sufficiently intimidating. "As for DiNozzo. . ."

"As for me, what, detective?" Tony asked politely as he walked into the squad room.

The look on Bunka's face as he turned to face the door, was priceless. It wasn't often you saw a seasoned cop look like he was going to piss himself, so it was a sight to behold.

"Shit, you're dead meat, Bunka," the same dry, amused, voice that had defended Ellison commented. "I reckon Ellison over there knows over one hundred ways to kill you just with a paper clip."

"Sergeant Trenton," Jim boomed, "so you finally decided to do something useful with your worthless ass."

"Ellison, long time, no see." The six foot plus man who approached with his hand out to shake Jim's hand, looked like he could bench press Sandburg. Trenton was handsome, clean cut and exuded the same dangerous ex-military aura that Ellison and Gibbs had.

"What it is with law enforcement and services?" Blair grumbled feeling like he stood in the middle of a forest of giant redwoods, "Isn't there anyone shorter than six foot where you all come from?"

"Trent," Jim pulled Blair closer, "I'd like you to meet my partner, Blair Sandburg. Blair, this miserable sack of humanity is. . ."

"Say my first name and you are a dead man, Ellison," Trenton interrupted before Jim could finish the introductions. "Trent is fine. So, you drew the short straw did you?" Trent addressed the question to Blair with a wink. "They are paying you hazard rates, right?"

"You think I should ask?" Blair decided he liked Trent.

"Definitely, did Ellison ever tell you about. . ."

"Trent, not now," that Ellison meant not EVER was clear in his voice. "We've got a case to help DiNozzo with. We can play catch up later."

"Count on it."

While Trent had been exchanging pleasantries with Ellison and Sandburg, Bunka had taken the opportunity to vacate the premises. Blair had been aware that the obnoxious detective was doing a bunk -- Blair had smiled at that thought - - but had allowed it. While Trent was defusing the bomb called Ellison, Blair allowed part of his awareness to wrap around Gibbs, working out what damage had been done to the man. As soon as they had somewhere private to repair to, Blair intended to deal with the agent's injuries.

The other members of the Homicide squad were covertly checking out the men that had arrived with DiNozzo. The consensus was that Bunka had been lucky the men hadn't arrived five minutes earlier. Gibbs and Ellison looked like they could take on an army and come out the other side saying something along the lines of 'that was a nice stroll'. Even if Bunka's comments had any basis in fact, the rest of the members of the squad valued their lives and one wrong comment looked like it could mean death, or at least 6 months in traction. Trent was suddenly the squad hero for defusing what could have been a nasty situation.

"Conference room one is free," Detective Hunter offered. "Do you need any help setting up?" Hunter was one of the few, Trent being another, who had at least listened to DiNozzo's theory. Bunka might have been an ass but one fact he had communicated during his rant was the some hot-shot FBI profiler was coming in to look over DiNozzo's stupid serial killer theory. It followed then, that maybe DiNozzo might be on the money. So, even though most of the cops had little faith in the FBI in general; the profiling group was considered a cut above and if one of them thought DiNozzo's theory was worth a look-see, then it probably was worth a look at.

Of course, Bunka's rant hadn't been complete in its detail. Thus, Hunter turned to Gibbs, assuming he was the FBI agent, "Agent Gibbs, is there anything else we can do to help you with this serial?"

Blair started laughing.

"Do I look FBI to you?" Gibbs' snarled; his ribs were starting to badly hurt, and being mistaken for an FBI agent went down like the Titanic.

Blair stopped laughing; Gibbs' pain level was starting to spike and the young shaman had to do something, now. "Tony, is there a room I can use? I just want to have a look over agent Gibbs here."

Tony had taken the slightly ashen cast to Gibbs' face and agreed with Sandburg that something needed to be done with him. Tony's hindbrain piped up that there were possibly many, many things that needed to be done with agent Gibbs, but that would have to wait. Tony was also sure that nothing short of a presidential order was going to get Gibbs to go the hospital to be checked out. So, silently wishing Sandburg luck, Tony led the way towards Conference Room one.

Gibbs followed Sandburg and DiNozzo, not because he was co-operating, but because he really did need to sit down.

Conference room one was like the standard conference room of any police station; white boards on three walls, glass wall with curtains making up the fourth wall and allowing natural light in, tables arranged in the ubiquitous U format and a podium in the gap at the top of the U. The only non standard piece of furnishing was a couch that actually looked like it might be comfortable.

"Tony, can you give me a few minutes privacy here with agent Gibbs?" Blair didn't really ask he just phrased it that way.

"Sure, do I need to send someone up from the infirmary?"

"Nah, I've got it covered."

"Then I'll get Jim to give me a hand getting the case files together. I'll also contact Peoria and Pittsburg and see if I can get them scan and fax over the details of their cases as well."

"If you have to Tony, use my name as part of the authorization," Blair commented even though most of his attention was fixed on Gibbs. "It will speed the process up."

"Okay, but that means Jim and I might be a while though. Are you really sure I shouldn't get someone from the infirmary? Gibbs' isn't looking too good there."

"I'm here, you know."

"And you also know you should be in the hospital, Gibbs," Blair acknowledged Gibbs' growl but the threatening tone didn't faze the Shaman. "Now, sit," a lash of command accompanied the direction and Gibbs sat.

"Wow, could you teach me to do that?" Dinozzo just had to quip. Tony didn't think anyone, or anything, could get Gibbs to do something he didn't want to, like follow orders from someone who was not above him in his chain of command. Even then, Tony was willing to bet that the NCIS agent managed to get his own way nine times out of ten.

"Tony," the warning this time was directed at DiNozzo. "I can handle it."

DiNozzo took his cue and left; there was enough to do in the squad room and Sandburg, in eerie command mode, was not someone the DiNozzo wanted to mess with.

"Gibbs, are you going to let me look at you or not?" This time it was a question, and if Gibbs said no then Blair would leave him be; healing could not be forced on someone who did not want to be healed.

Gibbs actually realized that Sandburg was giving him a choice and that surprised him. Gibbs had thought that someone with the _Power_ that Sandburg obviously had -- Gibbs might have been skeptical, but he wasn't so hidebound that he couldn't change his world view if sufficient evidence was provided -- would just steam roll over any objections.

Gibbs' face must have given away something of his thought processes as Blair commented, "I'd be a white witch according to some of the classifications. Healing with _Magic_, for want of a better word, makes changes to a person and if you are conscious, I need your consent."

"And if I was unconscious?" Gibbs wasn't agreeing to anything yet.

"Even unconscious there are ways I can ask for consent," Blair didn't think that Gibbs was ready to discuss spirit walks and other such tools of the shaman. Still, as the agent was conscious and fully compos mentis, then his explicit permission was needed before Blair could safely use his healing skills. That being said, Blair was confident that Gibbs would agree; the man just wasn't capable of letting go of this case, and as he seemed to be cut from the same cloth as Jim, that meant he might not like the mystical mumbo jumbo but if it got him functioning again, bring on the juju.

"Go ahead," Gibbs grudgingly gave his assent, mainly because even though he'd almost seen six impossible things this morning, he wasn't expecting to be able to top it off with a shamanic healing. Gibbs just reckoned that if he humored Sandburg, the man would chant some mumbo-jumbo then go away and leave him in peace. Gibbs should have realized that a simple rest on the couch wasn't going to happen, but he was operating a little below par at that point.

Blair, on the other hand, knew what he was planning to do and that involved healing Gibbs physically and, maybe a little emotionally, if he could. So, with permission having been granted, Blair knelt down in front of Gibbs. Blair placed his hands on either side of Gibbs' rib cage. After taking three deep breaths to center himself as the Shaman, Blair stepped into the spirit plain, pulling Gibbs with him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gibbs blinked twice as he realized he was now standing at parade rest in the middle of parade ground at Parris Island. He was dressed in his dress blue alphas with all his medals proudly displayed. The sight before him took Gibbs' breath away; his cock hardening involuntarily as he looked over Blair Sandburg. Damn, no wonder Ellison had been putting out the hands-off vibes.

The Blair that stood in front of Gibbs was not the young man who had knelt before him in the conference room. This Blair was power; the trappings of civilization gone to be replaced by the trappings of the Shaman. Blair was draped in a cloak of supplest of caribou hide; the open front of the cloak allowed Gibbs to see to that Blair's youthful, naked, body was daubed with charcoal, and cinnabar-derived red paint. The same stylized wolf was drawn on both the body and cloak. In his right hand Blair held a USMC NCO Sword, point down. In his left, a Marine M-40A1 Sniper Rifle.

Blair knelt down on his right knee; the sword held in his right hand, its point just touching the earth. Carefully, Blair laid the rifle down so that when he stood again it lay at his feet, butt to the left, barrel pointed right. Without lifting the blade from the earth Blair turned, describing a perfect circle in the dirt. When the circle was closed, Blair shifted his grip on the hilt; the one-handed grip became two, with the blade face down.

Arms straight, Blair lifted the blade until it was pointed straight at Gibbs' face.

Gibbs stood frozen, unable to move, held in place not by fear but by trust. Why he trusted the man in front of him when _trusting unconditionally_ was almost anathema to him was a puzzle Gibbs intended to figure out; later. For the moment Gibbs accepted that Blair would, and could, do no harm to him in this place. Here, wherever they where was the holiest of Holy grounds and while Gibbs might only appear to pay lip service to the organized religions of the world, he had faith in a higher purpose.

Blair took the trust offered and added it to the ball of power he was generating around the hilt of the sword. "You are hurt, not just in body but in heart as well, Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Blair's voice resonated across the parade ground. "The hurts of your body are easily fixed." Blair moved the blade down until the point rested against the fourth rib on Gibbs right hand side; the rib was cracked and threatening to pierce the lung. "The heart, no so, but we can start, if you are willing." The blade was moved till the point rested above Gibbs' heart; all Blair had to do was lean forward and Gibbs would be dead.

Gibbs nodded his head granting permission aware that deep magic, of the type he'd read to Kelly about in '_The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_' was happening.

The point of the sword was allowed fall in a lazy arc until it was just touching the ground again, this time at the point in the circle immediately between Gibbs and Blair.. The Shaman swayed slowly at first but began to gain momentum as an unseen chorus began to sing the _Marines' Hymn_; the sword's point, never leaving the ground, began to glow. The glow was the blue of Gibbs' dress blues and as Blair continued to sway the glow flowed up the blade until the whole sword was covered in blue fire. A blood red seam slowly became visible running up the blade; the seam, the same color and width as the blood stripe on the pants of Gibbs' blue alphas. As the first verse drew to a close Blair lifted the sword until his arms were stretched above his head; the point of the blade still pointing earthward.

"You have walls that must be breached before any healing can begin," Blair whispered. As the words '_Our flag's unfurled to every breeze_' were sung by the unseen choir, Blair pulled his arms back behind his head and before swinging the sword, point first, at Gibbs' head.

Gibbs didn't have time to flinch as the point of the blade touched the top of his head, and stopped. The blade may not have pierced him physically but it had shattered something. Gibbs actually felt the walls he kept around his heart break; Kelly, Shannon, his father, his mother, those he'd loved, and loss either through death or abandonment.

Gibbs had never allowed himself to grieve fully for Kelly and Shannon, he'd hunted the bastard down who had taken them from him, then he'd walled his heart up against any further intrusions. He'd taken his hurts out on his father, estranging that relationship, and he'd wedded and bedded carbon copies of Shannon so that he could pretend that all was well. It wasn't and with one sword stroke Blair had taken his defenses down.

Gibbs collapsed to his knees as he screamed his anger, his frustration, and his pain at the uncaring universe.

The universe, in the form of Blair Sandburg who'd lain the sword aside, gathered Gibbs into its arms and held him tight, and protected, while Gibbs finally grieved. The _Marines' Hymn_ continuing to be sung in counter-point to Gibbs' pain.

As the song drew to a close, so too, did Gibbs' eyes. As Gibbs rested, Blair's hands moved in lazy circles over the ex-marine's back, soothing and healing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Blair, are you done yet?" Tony poked his head into conference room hoping that whatever Blair _magic_ had been up to was finished. Tony was lucky in that he was right about the magic having finished but he wished he'd had a camera with him because he was sure no one would ever believe him otherwise.

Blair hadn't answered Tony's query because both Blair, and Gibbs, were currently asleep. Blair, still kneeling on the floor, had his head resting on Gibbs' lap. Gibbs, tilted slightly sideways against the couch's arm-rest had his hands resting on top of Blair's head; Gibbs' fingers seeming to burrow into the wealth of curls.

"Well, ain't that sweet," Bunka was making his way back to the squad room when he'd noticed Tony poke his head into the conference room. "Looks like the hippy gives quality service."

The hippy in question, currently riding the euphoric high that came from a deep healing, was rudely jolted back into _normal_ space by the waves of hate that was rolling off of Bunka. Blair, his eyes snapping open at the intrusion, stared at Bunka until Bunka began to back slowly away from the door; the hate quickly turning to fear. Blair, still partially connected to the spirit plane, was projecting all that he was and that was something the narrow-minded detective couldn't handle.

Tony, in the meantime, was fascinated. Somehow Blair had scared the pants off of his senior partner -- and Tony was man enough to admit he was glad _Blair_ wasn't looking at him at the moment -- without disturbing Gibbs, who slept through the entire confrontation. "If Bunka's going to be a problem I'll have a word with the captain," Tony offered.

Easing out from under Gibbs' hold, Blair stood up and rolled his shoulders a couple of times. "Bunka's_ not_ going to be a problem. . ."

"He's not?" Ellison _asked_ as he walked into the room carrying a pile of files with him. Jim had overheard enough of Bunka's comments to want to chase the man down and begin educating him in the proper manner to address his Guide, partner and mate. Said education would have been given with great malice and forethought, and _twelve_ months in traction.

"Not for me, he won't," Blair reassured his partner with a smile; a smile that consisted of much baring of teeth, somewhat like an angry wolf. "I'm more worried about what he's likely to do to you, Tony. That man isn't just a 'phobe, he has some real hate going on. I think we are all going to be better served if we take Gibbs up on his unspoken offer of working this case out of NCIS."

Jim and Tony both rolled their eyes the _unspoken offer_ comment. Neither however contradicted Blair.

"So, when's the Gunny going to wake up?"

"Sooner than I'd like, thanks to Detective Bunka," Blair wasn't a happy individual. He'd have liked a little more time to recuperate as well. "Still, he will be a little while yet, he has visitors."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Well, Gunny, at least you taste has improved somewhat," Shannon Gibbs laughed as she walked up to her husband. She rather enjoyed the pole-axed look on the normally unflappable Gibbs.

"Yes Daddy, Tony's a lot nicer than Diane. I didn't like her at all," Kelly piped up from where she was standing behind her mother.

Gibbs blinked, twice. One moment he was on his knees being held in the protective embrace of Blair Sandburg the next he was sitting on the front porch of his house, still dressed in his dress blue alphas.

"You always did look good in full uniform, Jethro," Shannon commented as she sat down beside him, a more than mildly salacious grin on her face particularly for someone who'd been gone nearly ten years.

Apparently something of Gibbs' thoughts must have shown on his face as Shannon leaned forward to brush her lips against his. "That's where you were wrong, Jethro," she murmured into the kiss. "We were dead, not gone. You walled us out of your heart just as much as you walled the rest of the world out. If Blair hadn't cut through that wall, we'd still not be able to talk to you."

"We miss you, Daddy," Kelly whispered though she didn't look too impressed with her parents; her facial expression was the classic _ewwww they're kissing_ face of children the world over.

"I miss you too, pumpkin, everyday."

"But you don't have to, Daddy," Kelly spoke with the assurance of a child who believed the world would order itself to its needs. "We are in your heart, Daddy, always. Aren't we, Mommy?"

"Yes sweetheart, and if your father would stop being such a stubborn ass about it, he'd know it too." The look Shannon gave Gibbs said it all, he'd better stop being a martyr or she was going to let her red-haired temper have its way.

Gibbs, who'd never cowered before enemy fire, wisely decided that he could give up the stubborn routine; at least for this purpose, for everything else all bets were still off.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Jethro," Shannon apparently continued to be able to read his mind. "Now as for that nice boy, Tony, he's going to need looking after, Jethro. He'll be hurt badly, possibly irretrievably, if he stays here."

"He's already been hurt bad enough, Daddy." Kelly piped up.

"So, what do you want me to do about it?" Shannon had had a thing for puppies, kittens and lost birds, if Gibbs hadn't occasionally put his foot down they'd have been overrun with rescue projects. Death, it seemed, hadn't changed Shannon all that much.

"He needs someone to love him, Jethro," Shannon wasn't backing down from this discussion. "I saw the looks you were giving him, and Kelly and I approve."

"Kells," Gibbs, a sideways glance at his ghostly daughter, "do you know what you are approving off?"

"Daaaad, I'm dead, not stupid. Mommy told me that love is love is love, and that a man can love a man in the same way that he loves a woman. Anyway, he's nice. I think he'd be able to see me and I'd like someone to talk to occasionally."

Gibbs looked at the two most important females in his life and realized that not only were they were ganging up on him but that he would also lose. It looked like Blair had really shaken things loose when he'd set about breaching the defenses around Leroy Jethro Gibbs' heart.

"Remember to thank Blair for us, won't you dear." Shannon smiled. Gibbs wasn't sure if it was this place or just the magic that was Shannon; either way he was still transparent to her.

Accepting the inevitable, Gibbs gathered both females into a tight embrace. Tears of joy, sorrow, and relief were streaming down all three faces. "Missed you, missed you so much."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC. . .


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six.

"Visitors?" Tony let his eyebrow do the talking. "You don't have the authority to be bringing strangers into my PD," Tony added with a glare.

"I don't think the visitors Blair's talking about are actually on this plane of existence, DiNozzo," Jim explained while he cast an interrogative look at his partner.

"Something Gibbs needs to take care of." Blair didn't care to explain. "While we wait for him to wake up, how about you let me have a look at those files?"

Tony wasn't happy, but it was apparent that neither Jim nor Blair were budging on the 'visitors' front. Tony was also savvy enough to exercise discretion and this seemed one of those times where it was definitely called for. "Don't you think Gibbs would rather hear this as well?"

"I'm just going to read though your files first, Tony. Making notes, that kind of thing; nothing Gibbs really needs to listen to. I've kind of got the feeling he will want to read over the files himself, without _contaminating_ input from either you or me."

"So do you need me here still?" Tony would have preferred to stay but he had a number of reports pending and if he wasn't able to contribute anything, his time would be better spent dealing with his own paperwork backlog.

"Actually Tony, it might be easier if you're here. Apart from maintaining control of these files, it means I can get you to clarify events if I need to. How about you grab any other paper work you might have to do and work here rather than out on the bullpen?" Blair wasn't letting Tony out of his sight at the moment if he could help it. Not that he doubted Tony's ability to look after himself. Tony had shown that he was more than capable of that. That being said, Blair Sandburg was constitutionally incapable of throwing anyone into the lion's den.

"How about I give you a hand transferring anything you might need here to the conference room?" Jim offered. He'd picked up his partner's reasoning, and though the chain of custody excuse was kind of weak given Blair was then sending Tony out of the room, it made for a nice face-saving gesture. "If your paperwork backlog is anything like mine -- before the professor here took over -- you'll need an eighteen-wheeler to move it." The scary thing was Jim wasn't kidding. Until Blair had taken over most (all) of the paperwork for team Ellison, it had been difficult, if not impossible, to find Jim's desk at times.

Tony recognized what the two Cascade detectives were up to, but with Bunka being an ass he wasn't about argue. "Nah, a U-Haul should do it. Still, a hand would be useful, Ellison. I hope those muscles are for more than show."

Jim proved it by walking over to Blair and giving his partner a hug; that the hug included lifting Blair off the ground was purely coincidental. It was also something of a coincidence that the hug occurred in such a way that Tony couldn't see what Jim was doing with his hands; suffice it to say Jim groped Blair's ass as much as was possible in such a public setting.

"Okay, they're not for show," Tony commented dryly.

"Nope, not even the muscles between his ears," Blair quipped as Jim set him down again. Lowering his voice so that only Jim could hear him, Blair went on to instruct Jim to keep Bunka way from Tony. Jim already intended to do so, but this time it was the Shaman, not Blair giving the instructions.

"How about we grab some coffee while we're getting those files?" Jim suggested as he turned and followed Tony back to the bullpen.

"Coffee only, no donuts," Blair yelled at the retreating form, though Blair sensibly also took a moment to enjoy the view.

"Yes, Chief," Jim replied before he was heard to ask DiNozzo where the nearest Starbucks was. Blair smiled, as it had exactly the same tone as the phrase 'Yes, dear' so despised by many woman.

With Tony and Jim out of the room -- likely gone for at least the better part of an hour if Jim convinced Tony that a cholesterol hunt was necessary -- and Gibbs _blissfully_ resting, Blair finally sat down at the table that formed the base of the U. After pulling a couple of profiling notepads and his favorite writing pen out of his backpack, Blair settled down and did a first pass read through of all the files Tony had brought to the conference room. The Philadelphia and Peoria files would wait; these files apparently had enough in them to lead Tony to believe this was a serial offence.

On the first pass Blair wasn't consciously looking for anything, instead what Blair was doing was somewhat akin to loading the data files for a computer game. Effectively, Blair was making sure he had all the data input and then he'd run his own internal analysis programs over the data. Yes, he could have used some fancy computer programs, and that was being pushed heavily by some sectors of the computing research industry, but while the artificial intelligence field had come a long way in many ways, it was still in its infancy; particularly at pattern recognition from sparse data. While computers were great for handling massive datasets, humans were basically still better at identifying patterns of behavior.

Glancing up at the clock, Blair was surprised to realize that nearly an hour had passed and while he'd jokingly thought Tony and Jim might be gone close to that long, he hadn't really expected it. Blair hoped it was a sign the two men were getting along. Jim, after all, had a habit of not playing well with others. Still, as they weren't back yet, Blair settled down again and went back to the first file; this time making detailed notes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"So what's he like?" Tony asked Jim as they wandered off down the hall.

"Who?"

"Sandburg," Tony cocked his head back towards the room where they'd left Blair reading. "I mean, he certainly doesn't look like a cop."

"Know what you mean," Jim smiled remembering the first time he'd met Blair Sandburg, "and he's actually trying to dress more like _the man_ as he'd say. First time I met him he was pretending to be a doctor at Cascade's General Hospital; all lab coat and big feet, almost like a young pup." Next time, though," Jim chuckled, "if I'd met him on the street I'd have said his clothing was enough probable cause to pat him down for drugs. Ended up throwing him against a wall and basically accused him larceny, false impersonation, and harassing a police officer. To top it all off I then threatened to shake his office down from top to bottom for narcotics."

"Bet that went over well," Tony grinned as he imagined the sight. Ellison might have been dressed in a casual suit but the fit gave away the fact that there was some serious muscle under that jacket; hell, he'd seen how easily Jim lifted Blair earlier without breaking a sweat so those _unseen_ muscles weren't just for show either.

"You have no idea. Next thing I know he's calling me Joe Friday. . ."

"Compliments all round, I see," Tony opened the precinct's door indicated Jim should head left with a nod of his head.

"Plenty. Starbucks this way?" Jim checked that was where they were headed.

"Yep, reckon we deserve a coffee after the morning we've had and I bet a couple of vente sized cups will be appreciated by Gibbs and Sandburg."

"Probably a double vente," Jim quipped. "Gibbs is an ex-Marine and you never come between a Marine and his coffee."

The two men made there way along E Baltimore Street turning down S President Street towards the Port Discovery Centre in companionable silence until a youth, running up S President Street, nearly ploughed into them. The youth dodged left and continued running past them obviously intent on escaping some doom or danger. The doom became apparent when a large woman came barreling out the front door of the children's museum yelling, "Stop, thief."

Tony estimated the youth had a good hundred yards on them when he and Jim turned -- and he was willing to be that Jim had a good ten years on him -- none of which mattered as Jim took off like a shot. Tony knew he was no slouch in the fitness area, he'd made his way through college on a prestigious athletics scholarship after all, yet he was hard pressed to keep pace with Jim. As a result it was no surprise that Jim was the one to actually tackle the youth to the ground leaving Tony to come up behind to make the arrest official.

"What do you think we ought to do with him, Tony" Jim wasn't even winded.

Looking at the youth, and thinking of the paperwork, Tony griped, "Can't we throw him back?"

"I didn't think Baltimore was catch and release," Jim smiled.

"Feels like it sometimes, especially for misdemeanors," Tony echoed the sentiments of many in law enforcement. "What say we wait and see if she," Tony nodded at the woman approaching them, "wants to press charges."

"Gods, I hope not," Jim prayed. "If Sandburg heard about this I'd never live it down."

"So, the big bad detective needs protection from his partner," Tony teased, rather enjoying the banter even as he kept a firm hold on their captive.

"Little shit's devious as all get out," Jim actually looked pleased with this fact, "but he's normally the trouble magnet and he is _always_ looking to shove that title off on someone else."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," the lady whose bag had been stolen rushed up enthusing all the way. "Such nice young men," she said as she racked both Jim and Tony with a rather lecherous look.

"Ma'am, Detective DiNozzo with the Baltimore PD," Tony introduced himself with a polite bow.

"Ooh, a policeman too. Are you married?"

Tony shot a warning glare at Jim as the out-of-town detective bit down on his knuckles in an attempt to stifle the laugh that threatened to overwhelm him as Tony tried backing away from the flirtatious victim.

"Hey, man," the thief whined as he nearly fell over when he was literally dragged along by Tony in Tony's effort to escape.

"Yes," Tony lied. "Do you wish to press charges, Ma'am?"

The lady, disappointed with Tony, turned her predatory gaze on Jim. " Are you married?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Jim answered politely, "Now do you wish to press charges?"

"All the good ones are taken," the lady bemoaned before deciding that seeing as her bag had been returned to her with nothing taken that going through the whole legal process, when she wasn't going to snag either of the arresting officers, wasn't worth it.

Tony, with a great show of regret, allowed that there was probably nothing to be gained by turning the youth in. Instead, Tony took the youth's details and issued a stern warning; the warning might have worked a bit better if Tony had been able to wipe the grin off his face.

"Coffee?" Jim looked at Tony as the youth went one way and the bag-lady returned to the Port Discovery Centre.

"Yes."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Blair was pondering the conundrum that was the possible signature when Tony and Jim staggered back into the conference room. Looking up, Blair was kind of glad he'd sent Jim along to help Tony as Jim walked in laden down with paperwork, Tony was also carrying a stack of files but he also had balanced on top of the pile, two vente sized coffees.

"Geez, Jim," Blair grinned as he watched the two men put down the files they carried. "I'm never going to complain about your paper work backlog again."

"Really," Jim looked happy at that thought.

"Complain, no. Rib you if you let it get that bad again, yes."

"Is he always like this?" Tony asked as he nodded his head in Blair's direction.

"Nope, most of the time he's worse." Jim grinned broadly as he yanked his partner's chain. "He's just behaving because he's got company."

"_This_ is behaving?"

Jim suddenly looked thoughtful, a fact that worried Blair, before he quipped, "actually, no. In fact if he doesn't start behaving, he won't get his coffee."

"Laugh it up, Jim. Laugh it up, and next time Simon's looking for someone to attend a seminar on paperwork management I'll be sure to volunteer you," Blair snarked back good naturedly.

Tony watched the byplay with a tinge of jealousy. The hug before had confirmed Tony's suspicions that the two were more than just partners. Tony just wished he could find a partner who he could trust to have his six, let alone a partner that he could have a relationship with like the one Blair and Jim obviously had. How they got away with being that openly out of the closet while working in mainstream law enforcement was another question for another time.

Blair watched the play of emotions across DiNozzo's face. The Baltimore detective might think he had his expression under control but Blair was a past-master at reading subtle signs. "You'll find a partner like that one day, Tony," Blair commented with such confidence that Tony almost believed him, almost.

Jim just sighed to himself; Blair was up to his tricks again and there was nothing the Sentinel could do but hold on for the ride. Mind you, with Blair concentrating on Tony and Gibbs, maybe Blair would forget about Jim's own little misdemeanors. Yep, and the moon was made of green cheese, too.

"Okay, so what have you got, Chief?"

"What I haven't got is coffee yet," Blair reminded to two men. That sad state of affairs was fixed forthwith, while the second cup was left on the table closest to where Gibbs still napped. Interestingly enough, as soon as the cup was put down near Gibbs, the NCIS agent's nose twitched.

"In terms of the case," Blair continued after taking a long pull from the cup he'd been handed, "I've just finished up with victim number one. I'm not sure yet but I don't think she's actually the first victim of our unsub."

"Why not? You've only read one file." Tony was curious as to how Blair could have come to that conclusion based on, as far as Tony could see, reading through only the one of files.

"Blair's read them all," Jim interjected. "That," Jim pointed to the notes in front Blair, "is just his notes based on his first detailed pass over the first homicide. It's the way Blair works; he'll read them all before going back and taking notes."

"Read them _all_?" Tony looked at the pile of notes they'd left with Sandburg originally. "He read all _that_," Tony was now pointing at the pile, "in less than an hour?"

"Speed reading 101, or was that 401, Chief?" Jim kind of didn't explain. "I've watched Blair read books the size of _Lord of the Rings_ in less than a couple of hours and be able to tell you all the main plot points. It's a real handy skill when dealing with other agencies when they try and bury us under paperwork," Jim finished with a grin.

"Hey, the CIA only tried that trick once," Blair mock whined.

"But the AFT. . ."

"Fine, "Tony broke in on what looked like the beginnings of an old and oft repeated argument, "that still doesn't explain why you don't think the Corken case is the first in the series," Tony persisted.

"Because there's no _mess_ about the death," Blair started to explain focusing his attention back on the cases at hand. "I mean, there is no indication that there was any hesitation between shots, but it's a very rare killer that gets that right first time out of the box. Look at the autopsy report," Blair handed the relevant report to Jim, "multiple gunshot wounds to the head, one shot to the glabella with a second GSW to the left supra-orbital process with a distance between the two shots of one and a half inches. The ME had noted no other injuries, significant or otherwise. No mess, just the shots. But even someone well-versed in target shooting is likely to hesitate on the second shot when it's an actual person they are shooting not a paper outline. You only have to look at the firing patterns of rookie cops when they've had to deal with armed offenders instead of those nice targets, even in the Sims. On the other hand our unsub isn't really a professional killer either."

"Why?" Jim was looking over the autopsy reports as he asked the question. Both other victims had died from GSW's to the head like Michaela Corken -- the second victim had died as a result of a GSW to the right forehead boss with a second GSW to the right supra-orbital foraman, in the third victim the shots had been to the left forehead boss and the glabella slightly right of the center line. If Jim remembered correctly Lt. Kirby's GSW's where also close to 1.5 inches apart. Thus, the placements for all shots was never more than 2 inches apart, but none of the placements so far had been closer than 1 inch. As a result Ellison agreed with his partner but he he'd leave it to Blair to articulate the reason.

"Think about, we have two shots from far enough away that there's no powder burns on the victim; yet sufficiently close enough together in time that it's hard to say which is the kill shot. Yet, while the shots were fired off quickly, the person isn't a full marksman with his weapon."

"Funny, I remember the shots being fairly close together," Tony remembered that it had been about one and a half inches between the shots 'centers'.

"Jim, if you had a stationary target ten to fifteen feet away from you, how close would your shots be?"

"A lot closer than one and a half inches," Jim answered as he read the distance noted down on Blair's notepad. "The unsub can shoot, but he's not super proficient with his weapon. That sort of distance between shot centers is a result of not keeping the gun totally under control. Sort of like qualifying results for someone who's never had to fire a weapon under anything other than controlled conditions."

"That's what I thought," Blair remarked as he was flipping the pages of the report on victim two, Kong An. "Two inches here," Blair pulled out the ME's report.

"Maybe the victim moved," Tony postulated as he played devil's advocate.

"Even so, two inches isn't close for someone well trained in firearms. I bet your groupings are better than that, Tony," Blair asked with a smile.

"Alright, so you think our perp has some training with firearms but not the proficiency you'd expect from someone active in law enforcement?" Tony inadvertently echoed Jim's earlier comment.

Blair stared at Tony for a moment before he appeared to almost disappear inside his own head.

"Now you've done it, Tony, he's off thinking," Jim explained away the suddenly blank look in Blair's eyes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I know you miss us, Gunny," Shannon whispered as she kissed her husband's cheek while disentangling herself from his tight embrace, "but you are needed elsewhere now."

"But," Gibbs grunted as he suddenly found his arms empty of wife and child.

"We will always be here, love," Shannon smiled with a touch of sadness. "But you have work to do in the land of the living."

Gibbs was for once in his life truly torn between duty and family; which was rather ironic given his family was actually dead. He hadn't liked it but he'd gone off to war when ordered without much of a fuss. But leaving this place, wherever it was, was something he really, really, really didn't want to do. What if he couldn't come back?

"Jethro," the giggle softened the rebuke slightly, "you can always come back here. This is the inside of your heart, silly."

"And Daddy, you can bring anyone you want here," Kelly commented with the age old wisdom of children. "Your heart has lots of room for other people as well as us."

"How do I bring them here then, sweetheart?" Gibbs humored his daughter's spirit.

"Easy, just hold their hands, close your eyes and click your heels together saying _there's no place like love_." Kelly knew what she was talking about. The lovely man, Blair, had whispered the spell to her before he'd withdrawn to leave Kelly, and her Mommy, to look after Daddy. Kelly liked Blair; she hoped he'd come and visit as well. "Daddy, can you bring Blair here again, too?"

Gibbs might have meant to humor his daughter but her instructions combined with the request to see Blair again shook him to the core; was it possible that he still had his family?

"You're likely to have a larger family now, Jethro," Shannon rather enjoyed watching her husband trying to deal with the inexplicable. "Blair takes his responsibilities as seriously as you do, and he carries a much heavier load, but he considers you one of his, now. Of course, Jim will follow wherever Blair leads. As for the long tall drink of cappuccino, Anthony DiNozzo. . . well you always did have great taste." The last was said with a wink and a smile.

"Shan," Gibbs blushed brightly.

"I don't know, Jethro," Shannon teased, "I'm sure you'd like the taste of a mellow Italian roast topped off with creamy foam."

"Mom, ewwwwwwwwwwwww," Kelly complained with her face all screwed up at the allusion to S E X; she might have been eight when she died but she's been a spirit long enough to have learnt a lot about the human condition. "Love you, Daddy."

"Love you too, Jethro. Now as they've finally gotten coffee for you, maybe you should go back and join them." Shannon suggested in the same way that Gibbs' drill sergeant had suggested back during his days on Parris Island.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Something you said must have triggered one of his weird thought paths."

"How long is he going to be like that?"

"No idea, Blair could be _gone_ as long as two hours."

"Two. . . hours?" Tony was a little astonished at the thought.

"There's a lot of brain power there. Blair's kind of scary like that; mind you I wouldn't trade him in for all the Wonderburgers in DC. Those scary thoughts however have solved more than one weird case in the past," Jim explained fondly. "How about we go check and see if the paperwork from your other sources is in yet?"

"Should be. In fact, I would have expected it on my desk when we got back from Starbucks," Tony commented, looking a more than a little worried now that he thought about it. Ted, in Peoria, had at said he'd make getting the files scanned and off to Tony his first priority once he hung up; Ted's exact words had been "if Sandburg's interested, you've got a yourself serial, Tony, bet on it. I'll have the details of our two cases to you within the hour." That hour was well past.

"Any reason why it wouldn't be there?" Gibbs asked suspiciously from right behind DiNozzo. DiNozzo's reaction would have been an instant youTube classic if the video feed from conference room one had been let loose on the internet. DiNozzo had jumped nearly three feet, straight up, like a startled cat, before landing in a tangle of limbs. Tony had also taken Gibbs down with him was just the icing on the cake.

"Still sneaking about the place, Gunny?" Jim smiled as he looked down on the tangled mess that was one NCIS agent, a Baltimore detective, and the remains of one vente coffee. "Hope you've both got a change of clothes."

Gibbs attempted to glare Jim into submission; it didn't work.

Gibbs shifted his glare until it was aimed at a certain not-so contrite Tony DiNozzo. DiNozzo just lifted one eyebrow in the interrogative, almost daring Gibbs to try and lay the blame for their current predicament on Tony's shoulders. Since Gibbs hadn't let it be known that he was awake, let alone awake and listening for the past 5 minutes, meant that the NCIS agent had no one to blame but himself when his sneaking up behind DiNozzo had resulted in such a spectacular accident. Not that Gibbs would willingly admit any fault.

"I've got a change down in the car," Gibbs grumbled.

"Good, because I'm not lending you anything of mine," Tony snarked as he looked over the damage done to his Armani suit and tie. "Come on, I'll show you where the shower rooms are," Tony continued as he led Gibbs, and Jim, back towards the homicide bullpen.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_"This is Sandra Sully coming to you live from the Baltimore Police department. I have with me Chief of Police Fredrick Jones and Detective Francis Bunka. In breaking news this reporter can confirm that after months of extensive investigation that members of the city's homicide squad, lead by Detective Francis Bunk, has identified a serial killer preying on divorcees in Baltimore and the surrounding counties. Detective Bunka has identified four local homicides with further cases from Peoria, Pittsburg, Philadelphia and Boston have now been confirmed to be part of a larger serial offence. Detective Bunka, how are you handling the sudden pressure to find this killer?"_ The perky voice of Sandra Sully was somewhat muffled by the group of detectives that were standing around Rhonda Macintyre's desk trying to get as close as possible to the wall mounted television behind her desk.

"DiNozzo's going to freak when he hears this," Trent muttered loudly enough to be heard over the sudden _roaring in the ears_ that afflicted DiNozzo, Ellison and Gibbs as they walked into the bullpen.

"What the hell does that moron think he's doing," sounded out in prefect tri-phonic sound. The following _snap_ of necks whip-cracking as all the men, and women, huddled around Rhonda's desk all turned to face the three very angry would have been comical under any other circumstances. Then, like the parting of the Red Sea, the huddle dispersed, so that DiNozzo, Ellison and Gibbs could get closer to the television; Tony's less than sartorial splendor ignored in the face of the wrath evident of DiNozzo's countenance.

The scene, in glorious technicolor, shown on the television's screen, had Bunka standing proudly in front of a dais with a pile of files in front of him; the top file clearly displaying the emblem of the Peoria Police department. Behind Bunka, the Chief of Police Fredrick Jones was smiling at the press corps as he showed his tacit approval for Bunka, and Bunka's actions. Bunka, to make matters worse, was espousing details from the Peoria cases and explaining why that district had failed to identify what was obviously a serial crime in action.

_"I'd like to reassure the citizens of Baltimore that we are close to an arrest. The unknown subject was seen leaving the vicinity of this morning's slaying. He is described as being short in stature with long curly hair. The subject was also wearing a charcoal grey casual suit and may have had a silver hoop earring in one ear. If anyone has seen such an individual in the area bordered by N Charles Street, E 25th Street, Greenmount Avenue and E Preston Street between the hours of 1300 and 1400 this afternoon could you please contact your local police station or. . ."_ Whatever else Bunka might have been about to say was abruptly cut off as Gibbs pulled the plug on the television in a pre-emptive strike; Ellison, standing beside Gibbs looked ready to deal with the equipment in a much more permanent manner.

"Is this the caliber of all of your colleagues?" Gibbs inquired of Tony DiNozzo. "Because if so, Detective DiNozzo, we are packing everything up about this case and the related cases and taking it all back to NCIS, right now!"

"Hey," Hunter started to object. He stopped objecting when Gibbs and DiNozzo, both turned to look at him with similar expressions of disgust. Jim would have joined in but he was busily monitoring his partner. The level of anger that he, along with Gibbs and DiNozzo, were feeling was likely to be sending out ripples though the aether and no matter how deep Blair was in his thought space those sorts of emotions were likely pull him back to reality, hard and fast.

"You don't have the authority to hijack Baltimore PD cases," Captain Turner finished for Hunter. The Captain had walked in on the tail end of Bunka's inglorious 15 seconds of fame and while Turner wanted nothing more than to collar his errant detective and bust Bunka back down to guarding kindergarten crossings Turner also wanted to do so in private. Airing dirty laundry was bad enough in front of the squad, but you never did so in front of members of various federal agencies; normally at least, this time it was unavoidable.

"You are correct, Captain Turner," Blair spoke with a level of authority that acknowledged no superior, "Agent Gibbs doesn't have that authority, he can only request the Kirby matter be handed over. On the other hand, I _do_."

"The FBI's Investigative Support Unit normally works with local law enforcement," Turner countered even though he expected to lose this argument.

"Works with. . .," Blair replied as he walked over to where Jim was standing. "But that requires that the local law enforcement officers also work with us. You do realize Captain," and the fact that Blair made the title sound like an insult wasn't lost on anyone, "that Bunka has seriously jumped the gun."

"I will admit that, but the public have a right to know to be on the look out," Turner tried to defend Bunka, though Turner would later tell his wife he had no idea why he'd bothered. Turner would have happily crucified Bunka for his publicity-seeking stunt so he couldn't really object when the FBI assigned profiler wanted to do so as well.

"We don't know what the public need to be on the lookout for, yet. While I am certain there is a serious serial offender perpetrating these homicides, I haven't had sufficient time to review all the material and yet your Detective Bunka feels confident enough to hand out details to the public, and the killer, without any filtering? There is a tenuous, additional, connection to the Navy in the unsub's behavior and I think that is sufficient reason to shift the entire case over to NCIS. I expect those files that are currently in Detective Bunka's possession will be retrieved immediately. I, also suggest we repair to your office Captain Turner. Agent Gibbs, if that is acceptable to you."

Gibbs, an old hand at office politics, had to admire the way Sandburg had just wrenched control of the entire case from the Baltimore PD even if he had no idea what the tenuous connection to the navy was that Sandburg was talking about. Still, Gibbs was well aware that they would need input from the locals and that meant taking one of the homicide squad with them; who, was an easy choice. "I think we'll take Detective DiNozzo with us. He can act as the liaison between NCIS and here."

"That will work," Blair agreed, happy that Gibbs had suggested bring DiNozzo along. If Gibbs hadn't, Blair would have. "In the meantime, Captain Turner, I suggest you put a gag on Detective Bunka and have a retraction aired about the unsub's apparent physical details; I'm not sure I want every street cop between here and Washington trying to arrest me."

"Do I get a say in this, at all?" DiNozzo finally found a break in the conversation long enough to interject.

"No," Gibbs and Blair replied simultaneously.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	7. Chapter 7

The Cost of Divorce: Chapter Seven

Jim was fast coming to the belief that coffee, at least served in receptacles larger than 10 ounces, was a hazardous liquid and should be labeled as such.

Jim and Blair had been left at loose ends while they waited for Gibbs and DiNozzo to return to the Homicide squad room; Gibbs, with DiNozzo in tow, had headed out to his vehicle to pick up a change of clothes prior to both Gibbs and Dinozzo adjourning to the showers to deal with the aftermath of their Coffee induced misfortune. Unfortunately, for Blair, the time taken by Gibbs and DiNozzo to shower and change was sufficiently long enough that Blair's own caffeine intake had enough time to work its way though his system with the standard result.

When Jim had turned to follow him to the Men's room Blair had sighed and commented, with more than a touch of exasperation, that he was quite capable of taking care of business, after all he'd been toilet trained since three.

"Chief, humor me," Jim tried reasoning with Blair, "we're in a different precinct and knowing you, you'll get lost and I'll have to spend half the day tracking you down."

"Hardy, ha, ha, Jim," Blair glared at his partner, "I get lost once. . ."

"Seven times at last count, Chief," Jim blithely interrupted.

". . .and I get reminded, time and time again," Blair just ignored Jim at that point. "I mean, what can possibly happen to me inside a fully manned police station?"

"Two words, Garrett Kincaid."

"That's four, Jim," Blair sniped back. "Be honest, Jim, what can really happen?"

Blair should have kept his mouth shut. How much trouble could he get into inside a manned police station? Lots, it seemed. . .

Newly promoted to the rank of Detective, Keith Rodgers couldn't believe his luck when he noticed the short man with long curly hair and wearing a charcoal gray suit exiting the men's room near the homicide squad's bullpen. Still, the instructors at the academy had emphasized that serial killers often liked to get close to the investigation, almost daring the police to catch them. It looked like the Baltimore killer was definitely of that breed. Discretely checking that the safety was disengaged on his service revolver, Rodgers forced himself to assume the standard _'I am a police man and I want to help you_' expression before he cautiously approached the man.

Blair, with his sense of direction well and truly turned around by the twisting corridors of the Baltimore PD, was ecstatic to see a friendly face approaching. The one ongoing problem Blair had in most police stations was that the inhabitants tended to take one look at him and assume he'd been bought in as one of the usual suspects for a local drug bust; this equated to open looks of hostility or disdain. "Hey, man," Blair enthused, "Am I glad to see a friendly face. You wouldn't happen to know the way back to. . ."

Rodgers went from smiling and affable to terminator-cop in the blink of an eye. Rodgers grabbed Blair by the elbow and twisted viciously, forcing Blair to turn with the twist or have his elbow snapped. Blair, training by Jim Ellison and perfected by a variety of persons intent on kidnapping or maiming him, went with the movement, continuing the turn until Rodgers was forced to let go or be slammed into the wall with the combined force of the momentum generated by two men. Blair finished the turn and stepped back and away before assuming a martial arts ready stance.

Meanwhile, Rogers had un-holstered his weapon and aimed it at the center of Blair's chest. "Don't even think about it, punk." Rodgers growled, his aim never wavering. "Turn around, face the wall and spread them; I'm sure you know the deal."

"What's with the dirty Harry routine," Blair asked as he moved to comply. "Jim. A bit of help here," Blair sub-vocalized betting that Jim had his ears turned in on him even thought he'd complained about not needing a babysitter to go to the men's room. Blair was not looking forward to eating crow for the next week, but he was willing to bet a month's salary that Jim would milk this for all it was worth.

Rodgers chose to ignore the punk-ass question. Instead he moved quickly to cuff Blair as he proudly recited, "You have the right to remain silent."

"Silent, why should I want to remain silent? I want to know what you're arresting me for." Blair started raising his voice hoping to attract someone's, anyone's, attention before he had to do something drastic to the idiot trying to arrest him.

Rodgers chose to ignore Blair's outburst, putting it down to false bravado. Instead he continued on reading Blair his rights, speaking over the of Blair's increasingly loud objections. Rodgers finished with a flourish as he cuffed Blair's wrists together, overly tightly, behind Blair's back.

"What I don't understand is why you're arresting me," Blair groused, vision of Jim telling everyone back at Cascade how their favorite trouble magnet managed to get arrested inside a police station… again "I'm a cop, for Christ-sake, check my ID."

Rodgers couldn't believe it; the killer was claiming to be a cop. Right. . . and Elvis was flipping burgers down at the local Wonderburger. Without bothering to pay attention to Blair's protestations of innocence, Rodgers frog-marched Blair along the corridors back towards the homicide squad room.

In one of those glorious moments of perversity, Rodgers, Blair, Ellison, Chief of Police Fredrick Jones and Captain Turner all arrived at the intersection, formed where the corridor between the PD's media room and the rooms housing the homicide squad was bisected by the corridor between the seventh floor break room and the rooms housing the vice squad, at the same time. The ensuing fracas; Jim trying to haul Sandburg out of the tangle of bodies whilst Jones started to congratulate Rodgers and Turner frantically trying to silence his superior officers, was the sort of A-roll television executives dreamed of. To make matters worse, Sandra Sully with her film crew were following behind so they caught the action for posterity on film.

"What the hell is going on?" Gibbs may never have been a drill instructor but he had been an MP and he could project his voice with the best of them.

Rodgers, still riding a wave of self-congratulation and totally ignoring any hints -- such as the forearm that was currently trying to crush his windpipe -- of his own imminent demise, croaked, "I'm attempting to arrest the Baltimore Killer."

Tony, standing just behind, and to the left of Gibbs, tried unsuccessfully to hide his shock at that pronouncement. "Um, Detective Rodgers, I suggest you let _Detective_ Sandburg go before _Detective_ Ellison does anything terminal," Tony commented blandly while directing a pointed look at Rodgers hands.

Rodgers, held so that he was forced to stand on his toes so as not to choke, was still clutching the chain between the cuffs he'd applied to Blair's wrists. The height difference between Rodgers and Blair meant that with Rodgers still holding the cuffs Sandburg was forced to bend forwards, and even then it was obvious that his shoulders were somewhat twisted.

"Detective?? He ain't no detective!" Rodgers echoed Bunka's earlier comments, much to the disgust of Gibbs, Ellison and Sandburg. Even Tony was mortified at the showing the department was making before the cadre of Feds.

Turner had taken the lull in activities to clue Jones into the identities of the various individuals currently crowded in the corridor. Jones, who was imagining the political fallout from the current state of affairs, looked around for Detective Bunka, on whose shoulders he intended to lay the entire mess. Bunka, with an almost rat-like sense of self-preservation, was no where in sight.

Rodgers, meanwhile, had at least let go of Sandburg's wrists. He wasn't able to do much else as Ellison was still intent of indicating just how displeased he was with the younger detective. To make matters worse, at least from Rodgers point of view, Ellison seemed quite capable of holding him up against the wall until doomsday without breaking a sweat.

Blair, released from the awkward position he'd been forced to stand in, flexed his shoulders a couple of times to loosen the kinks out of them, before proceeding to demonstrate how a childhood growing up with a yoga loving, hippy flower-child of the sixties could be extremely useful. In fact, he'd also met a variety of interesting people in his youth, including a fairly successful escape artist, meaning that escaping the cuffs, now that his hands were no longer held, was child's play.

"Jim, he's just doing his job!" Blair pulled at Ellison's shoulder. "A bit too enthusiastically, I'll admit," Blair unwisely remarked as he tried stretching out the last of the kinks in his neck.

Rodgers tried to say something but it came out as a strangled gasp as Ellison leaned a little further in.

"Stand down, Jim," Blair switched tone into the shamanistic register; Jim complied, eventually, but not before whispering dire warnings in Rodgers ear.

"Man," Blair whispered to Rodgers, "I'd make myself scarce if I was you."

Rodgers didn't need to be told twice, leaving so precipitously that he left his cuffs which were now open but hanging from Blair's left wrist.

"Chief Jones," Tony stepped into the metaphorical breach and began the round of introductions.

Gibbs meanwhile had approached the cameraman that was joyfully recording the events for prosperity or a shot at the Pulitzer Prize for on-the-spot reporting. When Gibbs _suggested_ that the camera man might like to consider turning the camera off, and handing over any and all footage, the camera man turned, in righteous fury, ready to defend his first amendment rights under freedom of the press. After one quick glance at the steely blue eyes and the ever-so-polite countenance on Gibbs' face, the camera man decided that maybe the B-roll he was currently shooting wasn't that news worthy.

"Sensible man," Gibbs commented as tape and disks were deposited in his outstretched hand.

Sandra Sully was about to object as she observed her cameraman cower under the force of Gibbs personality, that was until the man turned his gaze to her. Sandra had faced down drug lords, corrupt politicians, and Mob bosses, Personally, she thought they could all have taken lessons from the man who'd been introduced as Agent Gibbs.

Gibbs allowed the slightest smirk appear; his eyes lighting up mischievously for a moment.

Sandra bowed her head in submission. She was experienced enough to know that the sort of footage they'd captured was not in the public interest if there was a serial killer loose in her town, still. "I'll want that back later," she mouthed at the NCIS agent.

Given the grief he'd had to put up with so far today Gibbs was inclined to be gracious; embarrassing this PD after he'd acquired DiNozzo's services would be fitting payment. A small nod indicated he'd consider the request.

Jones, having been bought almost up to speed _suggested_ that the relevant people retire to his office with him and that all other, unnecessary personnel return to their business. When nobody moved Jones snapped, "Now!"

Gibbs smiled as people scattered in all directions.

"Agent Gibbs, Detectives Ellison and Sandburg, would you mind joining me for coffee?" Jones asked when the area was finally cleared of extraneous people.

Gibbs looked ready to object; he wanted to get back to NCIS where he had undisputed control. Any comment that he would have made, however, was silenced by a look from Dinozzo.

"Let's give the media people a chance to issue that retraction," Tony was saying as he jostled Gibbs into following along behind Jones. "I'm certain you don't want a repeat of what just happened here, Agent Gibbs. Anyway, the Chief's office has the best coffee in the precinct and I need to replace the one you spilt."

Gibbs gave Tony points for subtlety. Tony had successfully maneuvered him -- something that very few had ever managed -- into staying at the PD for the moment. "The coffee had better be worth it, DiNozzo."

"If it's not, I'm sure I can find another way to make it up to you," Tony smiled at Gibbs.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"You ride with me, DiNozzo," Gibbs stated as they _finally_ left Jones' office. Jones might have been a cut above the rest, but he was still enough of a political animal that being trapped in Jones' office with poor quality coffee had done little to improve Gibbs' temper.

"And when I need to get home?" Tony snapped back.

"You're not going to be any use to me if you have to commute to the Yard everyday till we get this solved, DiNozzo," Gibbs was used to getting his own way and he wasn't planning on backing down now. "I've got a spare room, you can bunk there."

"We'll need to swing by my place first, then," Tony groused trying to get Gibbs to let up on the idea; after all the department had vehicles to spare.

"Was going to, DiNozzo," Gibbs grinned as he upset Tony plans to grab another vehicle. "Directions?"

"How about I drive?" Tony tried another tack; he'd seen Gibbs peel off from the Lovegrove Street scene and had decided, then and there, that riding with Gibbs was something to be avoided, at all costs. "I know the city, after all."

"Passenger seat, now, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped.

Tony resisted the urge, barely, to snap 'yes, sir', before he got into the front passenger seat.

The trip to Tony's apartment was made in record time. Tony got the whole _beating your best time_ thing but he was willing to admit that he'd never, ever, be able to beat the time Gibbs took to get from the PD to his apartment. "You know you make Mad Max look like a Sunday Driver, don't you?" Tony tried to play it cool while he peeled his fingers off the panic handle.

"Mad Max?"

"Beyond Thunderdome? Remember: no matter where you go, there you are, which kind of explains your driving," Tony quipped as his heart rate began to slow down now that the adrenaline rush was wearing off. "Still, I must admit I love the whole Blue's Brothers thing you've got going with this car." Tony continued to babble, patting the hood as he waited till his legs caught up with the fact that the car had stopped.

Gibbs just looked at Tony as though the man had grown another head.

"This car," Tony banged the hood for emphasis, "has got a cop motor, a 440 cubic inch plant, cop tires, cop suspensions, cop shocks. Am I right?"

"Inside," Gibbs growled cutting Tony off before the young man babbled anymore. "Grab your gear; I'm leaving in ten minutes."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Okay, Jim, you ready to talk yet?" Blair asked as Jim buckled up beside him.

"About?" Jim tried the stalling tactic knowing it wouldn't work. Zone one and two he could explain but the third one, he wasn't sure what had caused it yet either so answering Blair's questions was going to be difficult.

"About the zone-fest you've been on today." Blair didn't even blink, riding straight over Jim's attempted stall. "Three times, Jim, three times. The only time you've zoned in the past year has been when I've completed major ritual magic."

"And that accounts for one of today's zones," Jim deflected.

"And the other two?" Blair wasn't backing down.

"I think I know why the first zone," Jim actually started blushing which had Blair wondering where the camera was, and did he have time to grab it. "The course, two weeks, no privacy."

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting, man?"

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" Jim grumbled.

"Yes," Blair agreed a little too quickly for Jim's taste.

Jim resorted to glaring at his partner. There was no way he was going to admit to Blair just how much depended on Blair to keep him grounded. The thing was, since they'd become lovers there was almost always _bits_ of Blair on Jim, or in Jim; so, even if Blair wasn't with Jim, he was. In fact, this conference had been the longest the two men had been _apart_ and Jim was paying for it.

"Jim," Blair ignored the glare, instead pressing for more information. "I need to know these things, man. Secrets have a bad habit of biting us."

"Okay, I think some of my control comes from having you with me, always and in all ways," Jim reluctantly admitted.

"Wow," Blair's eyes looked like they might pop out of his head. "How long can you go without, I wonder." The smile Blair sent Jim's way suggesting all manner of experiments; none of which Jim was keen on.

"Chief, do you want to be the on to explain to Simon that we need a nookie break before I can work my _magic_?" Jim went on the offence before Blair started planning on curtailing their extra-curricular activities; all in the name of the advancement of Sentinel knowledge.

"No, but. . ."

"No buts, Chief," Jim had a solution planned, one that he thought was much better than abstinence. "How about we just make sure that we never go that long again without a bit of us time?"

"I can do that," Blair's smile this time suggesting that maybe now was a good time to pull over and stop for a bit of that _us_ time. "But don't think I've forgotten about that last zone."

'Damn,' Jim thought he'd gotten away with that one. "I think it was something I smelled," Jim tried to explain.

"The murderer?" Blair asked disbelievingly, "or something else?"

"Something else, I think."

"Come on, Jim, you know the drill. The memory is there, filed away. Pull it up and tell me about it." Blair always got pushy when something went astray with Jim's Sentinel abilities.

"I remember Dr. Mallard fishing for information," Jim grudgingly admitted. "Just how much do you think he suspects, Chief?"

"Who?"

"Dr. Mallard, that's who. He even commented about not wanting to upset my young guide."

"Oh shit," Blair went a whiter shade of pale.

"Blair," Jim was reaching for the steering wheel even as he asked after his companion's health, "hey, no fainting while driving. You want to pull over and let me take the wheel?"

Blair shook his head as though to clear cobwebs. "No can do, bro, I'm the _only_ listed driver. You drive and we're not insured."

"So, what's got you so worried then?"

"Abby Sciuto," Blair replied causing Jim to blink at the non-sequitor.

"Abby Sciuto?"

"Gibbs' forensic scientist, remember, Gibbs mentioned her?"

"So?" Jim remembered the name; he also remembered Blair didn't look too happy when he'd heard it either.

"Dr. Mallard was heading back to NCIS and I'll just bet he's going to mention his suspicions to their forensic scientist, a brilliant forensic scientist known for thinking outside the box."

"Oh, hell." Jim had to agree with Blair's assessment, they were screwed. If Blair knew about Ms Sciuto and thought of her as someone able to think outside the box then she's be able to think outside the small box, and the BIG box.

"Yep, we are screwed."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gibbs cocked an eyebrow as he watched DiNozzo chuck a relatively small backpack into the back seat before Tony slid into the passenger seat beside him. "Traveling light, DiNozzo?"

"Always, Tony flashed his brightest grin at the NCIS agent, cock-sure of himself as he'd made it back down to the car with almost thirty seconds to spare. "Never know when you might have to up and leave in a hurry." Tony quipped, though the jovial tone (and the smile) weren't reflected in the young man's eyes.

Gibbs filed that fact away for later. Given that Tony appeared to be something of a clothes horse -- the cut and quality of the material of the suit testament to the fact that DiNozzo understood fashion -- the size of the backpack was almost incongruous. "You got enough stuff in there if I need you in Washington for more than a day?"

"If I need another pair of jeans I can always grab them." Tony replied with a cheeky grin. "You only allowed me ten minutes to pack so I went for the basics, you know, what I need to shower, shit and shave, like a marine."

"This isn't basic, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled back but any implied reprimand was negated by the slight crinkling at the edge of Gibbs' eyes and the half smirk that the ex-DI flashed at Tony.

"Didn't think it was," Tony pushed, living dangerously.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs planted his right foot on the accelerator, foregoing the pleasure of quick up-side slap to the head of one Anthony DiNozzo. The resultant scrabbling, as DiNozzo fought momentum, and inertia, while trying to buckle up his seatbelt caused Gibbs to grin as they pulled away from the curbside. "Don't lose your lunch."

"Wouldn't think of it, Boss," Tony had cottoned onto Gibbs' game and was going to give as good as he got.

A quick nod was all he got for his efforts but it seemed to Tony that he had passed some sort of test as Gibbs slowed the vehicle back from ludicrous speed and cruised along at plaid.

"So, do you think Sandburg's tenuous connection to the Navy will be enough to have NCIS take over the case?" Tony asked Gibbs turned the vehicle onto the Baltimore–Washington Parkway.

"Apart from the fact I've got a dead Marine, you mean?"

"Well, yes, apart from that."

"Don't know. You tell me, you're the one who's read the case files."

"Fine, victim number one, Dr. Michaela Corken, currently employed as a dental surgeon at the Sinai Hospital. She took the job in Baltimore to be closer to her fiancé, Dr. Simon Hanks. Hanks was recently employed as head of the University Of MD Oral Surgery Unit," Tony started to rattle off the facts of the case from memory. "Now, my guess is, unless it's a case of killer tooth decay, we can rule out work as a motive." Tony flashed a brilliant smile at Gibbs demonstrating in his case, at least, there was no killer decay lurking in the corners.

Gibbs turned his head, slightly, to face Tony. A raised eyebrow and an old fashioned look was all he was needed to reel DiNozzo back in.

Getting his head back in the game, DiNozzo continued. "Tox results all came back negative, no opiates, amphetamines or cannabinoids detected; so drugs as a motive also washed out. Sandburg's possible Navy connection, and it is tenuous, is that Michaela's first husband is ex-Navy."

"Ex-Navy?"

"The ex, Devon Alfred Corken, was, until recently a Lieutenant Colonel in the USMC Chemical Biological Incident Response Force. Not long after Michaela moved to Baltimore, Devon Corken accepted a position at BioDetect Systems to lead their research and development team; the salary package offered was a substantial increase on his previous salary as a Lieutenant Colonel and the head office is here in Baltimore."

"So, did he follow the _ex_ out of spite? Was he still sleeping with her?" Gibbs knew, from painful experience, that a man, even a Marine, might follow his _ex_-wife to keep messing up her life; the fact that he'd discovered his first (ex) wife in bed with her ex-husband when he'd returned from an overseas deployment was proof enough that Devon Corken might still be deeply involved in his ex-wife's affairs.

"Something like that happen to you?" Tony asked, having picked up on the angry and bitter undertone.

Gibbs didn't deign to answer the question though he did tighten his grip on the steering wheel.

Tony took the silence as an agreement and decided to move on to safer topics before the steering wheel cracked under the pressure. "If Devon Corken was still in Michaela's life it wasn't for the booty call. Apparently he paid higher than usual maintenance for his children, covering the costs of many extra-curricular activities. Custody visits were regular; the children's grades were above average, showing no signs of trauma or distress at having divorced parents. Both parents were noted as always attending parent-teacher interviews and the most recent by all three adults; one English teacher had actually commented on how well the ex-husband and the current fiancé got along particularly on issues relating to the children's education."

"So trouble between the ex- and the new fiancé didn't pan out as a motive either." Gibbs' comment was more a leading question than a statement. "I'm beginning to see why it's remained unsolved."

"All the usual suspects all have strong alibis, good relationships with the deceased, or both. If the deceased had been Devon we'd have been better off."

"How?"

"There were some strong indications of professional jealousy from some of David Corken's previous USMC colleagues; though BioDetect Systems were more than happy with the man's performance."

"Go on."

"The most notable detractor was David's superior officer, Colonel Mike Tastier. Tastier apparently had made numerous comments along the lines of he should have been offered the BioDetect Systems job and that one day David Corken would regret taking up the job offer. If David Corken had been the deceased, Tastier would have made a good suspect, but there appeared to be no reason why Tastier might kill Michaela."

"You're sure the target wasn't David Corken or Hanks?"

"Very, even with no obvious motive, not even robbery," Tony began to explain.

"Why not robbery? A house invasion gone wrong."

"Because Michaela's engagement ring (valued at over $5000) was still on her hand when her body had been found; nothing had been taken from the house at all. As for finances, we couldn't find any indication of financial problems for Michaela, Corken or Hanks. For all the apparent lack of motive, it seemed that Dr. Michaela Corken nee Jones had been a chosen target.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"It's no wonder that first shooting went unsolved," Blair commented after he'd finished reeling off the details of Michaela's murder.

"And the tenuous Navy connection is Tastier?" Jim asked for clarification.

"Not so much Tastier, more that Michaela's ex-husband was in the Marines. The second victim, Kong An, her ex-husband was also a Marine, a training Second Sergeant in EOD."

"And victims three, four and five?"

"Victim three, Tracy Jones, her ex-husband is currently stationed at Parris Island."

"So, you're not sure if it fits the patterns?"

"I still think we need more details about Tracy Jones' ex, plus I'll need the details of _possible victims_ four and five before I can be sure but I don't think it's a coincidence that all of the decedents' ex-partners were associated at some point with the USMC."

"Great," Jim groaned, "I'm going to have to put up with Gibbs."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gibbs strode out of the elevator and into the NCIS bullpen like he owned the place. Tony, almost unconsciously, fitted himself in a step behind, and half a step to the left of Gibbs, like he'd followed Gibbs his entire life.

Jim and Blair stayed in the elevator, ostensibly admiring the view. The truth was neither man keen to leave the safety of the elevator and face what was waiting for them in the bullpen: Dr. Mallard and Abby Sciuto.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, is it true?" Gibbs was almost bowled over by five-foot ten of tattooed 'Goth' girl in thigh high platform boots that had to have at least 5 inches of heel. "Did you _really_ meet a Sentinel?"

"Sentinel, Abs?" Gibbs steadied the girl before she pitched forward, "What's a Sentinel?"

"Ducky was saying you met a Sentinel and a Guide," the girl babbled, "at the crime scene. Is it true? Is he cute? Was Blair Sandburg really there?"

"You don't have Brad and Janet stashed about here, too?" Tony asked Gibbs over the top of girl's babbling as he tried to get his mind around that fact that someone who looked like _that_ apparently had the run of the building.

"Abs," Gibbs grabbed the girl by one shoulder and spun her around till she was facing Tony, "Tony DiNozzo, Baltimore PD. Tony, this is Abby Sciuto, my forensic scientist."

That was a forensic scientist? Black pig-tails, black eye liner, spider web-tattoo, and a collar. _Right…_ Tony Blinked, twice.

Abby apparently was as impressed as he was. She looked Tony over, from head to toe, before turning back to face Gibbs. However, whatever her thoughts were, Tony was not privy to them as the Abby started waving her hands in front of Gibbs.

Gibbs, for his part looked at Abby and glared, before signing something back. "And no, I don't think he's the Sentinel," Gibbs finished whatever conversation he was having with the girl.

"Damn it Gibbs, I thought, for once, you'd brought me back something special." Abby actually pouted at Gibbs, dismissing Tony as not-important.

"He's not a toy, Abby," Gibbs mock growled.

Abby looked at Tony again, this time with a wicked gleam in her eye, "No, not a toy, but if you give me just seven days I can make you a man."

Tony blushed slightly, Gibbs may not have picked the movie reference but apparently Abby had.

Gibbs, ignoring the byplay, turned to glare at the elevator. "You two coming out here, or not?" The _question_ was addressed to the open doors.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC. . .


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Blair and Jim would far rather have remained in the comparative safety of the elevator, preemptively gathering as much _intel_ as possible about the people at NCIS that they had yet to meet, namely Miss Abby Sciuto. Gibbs' summons had effectively put an end to that option. So, looking a lot like two little boys called before the principal, both men stepped out of the elevator and into the NCIS bullpen. Walking towards the partitioned area that was obviously Gibbs' kingdom, both men were somewhat taken aback by the sight that greeted them: five-foot ten and approximately 130 pounds of classic Goth, tattooed and pig-tailed.

"Gibbs, you _have_ been busy!" Abby, apparently immune to Gibbs' glare, commented to nobody in particular as she looked appreciatively up, _down and back up again,_ at Jim Ellison. "Hiya, handsome," Abby's gravelly voice came across as smoky and just on the right side of wrong.

Blair blinked, twice. That sort of voice should be listed as a dangerous substance and he was eternally grateful that the girl wasn't a red-head. Jim might be his but even superman had his kryptonite, and for Jim Ellison, it was red-heads. Add that voice to a red-headed package and the blast radius would be measured in miles. Noting the look of fond tolerance on Gibbs' face, Blair sub-vocalized a warning to his partner; _Jim, no touchee… noooo touchee, savvy?._

Jim sent a look back at Blair that clearly said _I get it, Table-leg._

Blair replied with a further eye roll that clearly communicated, to Jim at least, _not anymore_.

Tony and Doctor Mallard, both watched the silent communication with a degree of awe. You had to be very close to someone to have entire conversations in a look.

Gibbs, ignoring all the unspoken by-play, went for expedience, "Abby, meet Detective Jim Ellison and Dr. Blair Sandburg."

"You're kidding! _He's _Blair Sandburg?" Abby squealed as she launched herself at the smaller of the Cascade detectives, causing Blair to backpedal fast to avoid being bowled over by the forensic scientist. She grabbed Blair's shoulders firmly and demanded, "Are you still claiming to be a fraud?"

"Fraud?" Gibbs eyes widened, that wasn't the reaction he was expecting.

Blair looked incredibly uncomfortable.

Doctor Mallard looked thoughtful, as though the comment of _fraud_ had actually explained a few things.

Ellison looked furious, even going so far as to step towards Abby, with intent, even.

"Hey, what's with calling someone you've only just met a fraud," Tony smiled _charmingly_ as he interposed himself into the tableau to defuse the situation before things went past pear-shaped at the speed of plaid. That being said Tony was intensely interested in finding out what the _fraud_ comment meant, himself. After all, an acknowledged fraud working in policing, let alone consulting for the FBI, there had to be a story there and the Sentinel thing was probably at the root of it all. "You look like an escapee from Rocky Horror, Miss Sciuto, and yet I don't see Dr. Sandburg making comments."

"Hey. . ."

A sharp whistle cut across whatever comment Abby was about to make. Everyone looked at Gibbs, which was exactly the response he wanted. "I've got a dead naval Lieutenant who's just getting deader," Gibbs snarled into the shocked silence. "Abs, you got anything, yet?"

"You know I haven't," Abby whined. "You always know when I've got results, Gibbs, you always know before I know."

"Then what are you doing up here, Abs?"

"I wanted to meet. . .,"Abby darted a quick look at Blair and Jim, "I'd better get back and fire up Major Mass Spec."

"You do that, Abs," Gibbs smiled at her softening the implied rebuke. "I'll bring Sandburg and Ellison down later." Much later; and only after he'd had a chance to explore the _fraud_ comment in more depth.

"Sweet," the Goth girl spun on the spot before she high-tailed it back to her domain.

"Thanks," Blair whispered to Gibbs.

"Don't be," Gibbs turned to face Blair and Jim with a rather smug expression on his face. Hoping to get Sandburg slightly off balance Gibbs quipped, "I'll let Abby question you both, later."

"Shit."

"You say something, Ellison?"

"Nope, just waiting for you to tell us where to put our things," Jim replied calmly as he placed a hand on Sandburg's shoulder.

Blair stood silently beside his partner while he though up and discarded a multitude of plans to avoid discussing the _fraud_ comment. Being the smart man that he was, though, meant that Blair was certain that Gibbs would want to discuss Abby's revelation, the only question was when.

Gibbs, noticing the silent support being leant to Sandburg by Ellison, indicated the set of obviously unoccupied desks that made up three of the four quarters of Gibbs' domain. Once everyone was settled, Gibbs planned on addressing the _fraud_ comment before it came back and bit him on his investigative butt.

Tony, reading the underlying tension rather accurately, attempted to divert everyone's attention elsewhere. To that end, he took one look at the layout of the desks and firmly planted his butt on the desk that diametrically opposed the desk that was obviously Gibbs'. "I think I'll be happy here." Tony allowed a small grin to play across his face, "Out of range, as it were." The upside to the head that followed indicated that maybe Tony should have kept his mouth shut while the going had been good. The fact that Gibbs had gotten across pen, and behind him, so quietly should have been enough to warn the Baltimore detective but before the governor on his mouth kicked in Tony asked, "So, are you like the Red October of NCIS?"

"Red October?" Gibbs was worried he'd rattled the kid more than he thought.

"You know, the Hunt for Red October, starred Alec Baldwin and Sean Connery. Killer submarine with a new caterpillar drive," Tony started to explain before slipping into a truly horrendous imitation of Sean Connery's brogue, "It reminds me of the heady days of Sputnik and Yuri Gagarin when the world trembled at the sound of our rockets. Now they will tremble again - at the sound of our silence. The order is: engage the silent drive."

"DiNozzo…"

"Shutting up now, Boss."

"Good," Gibbs commented before he turned to face Sandburg and Ellison, both of whom were doing a fairly good impression of the old sniper trick of not being there. Unfortunately, for Sandburg and Ellison, Gibbs was an old sniper and thus saw through the _ruse_.

"Conference room, now!" Gibbs barked as he strode out of the bullpen confident that Sandburg and Ellison would follow; DiNozzo's attempt at diversion having failed spectacularly.

If Gibbs had issued that command to anyone else other than Sandburg and Ellison, his confidence that he would be followed without question would not have been misplaced. The problem was that Sandburg and Ellison, after all the BS and power plays they'd been through, weren't about to be bullied by anyone, not even the US President, so Gibbs' order was summarily ignored.

Ducky, reading the situation with a lot more accuracy than Gibbs, moved to follow the NCIS agent as soon as Gibbs had started to turn. Damage control first and foremost on the ME's mind; Gibbs was good, but Sandburg was better at investigating serial offences, and Ellison would be almost unmatched in the field. Keeping them onside was going to require a slight modification of Gibbs' usual methods.

Tony didn't follow Gibbs, though he could have, given the joint nature of the investigation. He should have but his instincts said if he did then he'd never get the full story about Sandburg and Ellison. Worse, Tony also suspected that the two might well turn and leave if he didn't remain, effectively agreeing that Gibbs had stepped over the line with his abrupt summons. In all honesty Tony would admit that he'd have already been walking if he were Sandburg so he stayed lending silent support to the not so silent Cascadian.

"No way, no how, Jim," Blair was already getting into his partner's face, "I've been through the Q&A routine too may times already."

Ellison, fully in agreement with Sandburg, was stuck trying to placate the Sandburg while keeping a weather ear on Gibbs, Mallard and DiNozzo. Gibbs and DiNozzo, at least had had the Sentinel 101 talk but without any reference to academic suicide; on the other hand Mallard, who had had none of the explanations about Sentinel 101 but apparently knew of the academic suicide. The four men, together with their fragmented knowledge, was the stuff of Sentinel nightmares. "Calm down, Chief, maybe Gibbs wants an update on your theories."

"If you believe that, Jim, I've got some beach side property in Atlantis I could interest you in. He heard the word _fraud_ and wants an explanation, now. Doesn't matter that I'm Dr Blair Sandburg, author of the leading text on interagency co-operation; doesn't matter that I have the FBI begging me to jump ship permanently; doesn't matter that I can heal the hurts of _**HIS**_ heart, nope, Gibbs' hears the word fraud and it is back to _Interrogation, now,_ and don't tell me he said Conference Room, he meant Interrogation.

"Yeah, well it doesn't say that many great things about me, either, Sandburg," Ellison pushed back; after all, it was an insult to him as well. Still, when Jim got Gibbs alone there was going to be hell to pay. Until then, however, Jim had to get Sandburg back on track and this was one of the times where he was eternally grateful that the power-balance between the two of them was pretty equal. Sentinel to Guide, Jim pushed and pushed hard past the angry, and hurt, man, Blair Sandburg until the Guide was forced to respond.

"Dammit, Jim," Blair grumbled as he came down off of his high dudgeon, "when is that ever going to go away?"

"About the same time we hear a politician speak the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth during an election campaign."

"Gee, thanks."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Jethro," Dr. Mallard hurried to catch up to the NCIS prime investigator, "Jethro, that might have been a mistake."

"What?" Gibbs, who had just made it to the Conference room, turned sharply to face the ME. When Gibbs noticed the complete lack of anyone else following behind the ME the scowl on his face only deepened.

Ducky, used to the mercurial temper of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, ignored the scowl. "I said that might have been a mistake, Jethro. Our young Abigail locked onto one insignificant fact from Dr. Sandburg's history and you seem to have blown it all out of proportion," the ME scolded his _superior_.

"Blown it out of proportion?" Gibbs wasn't about to back down, "If the man's a fraud, and, as it looks like you knew about it and didn't warn me, I want to know what is he doing working for the Cascade PD, let alone the FBI. I'll not have some fraud jeopardizing this case and preventing a Marine's family from getting justice!"

There were times, Ducky would admit, that Gibbs' unswerving drive for justice was a blessing but sometimes, just sometimes, Gibbs' this meant that he occasionally sped past some minor, but often crucial details. This looked like being one of those times. "I don't know what Dr. Sandburg and/or Detective Ellison might have told you, but I suspect they might have mentioned something about tribal guardians and their companions," Ducky fished with the finesse of a skilled interrogator; something he'd learned through watching Gibbs over the years combined with a natural flair for reading people.

"Jethro, do you honestly think the FBI would have Dr. Sandburg teaching if he wasn't the real deal?" Ducky tried gentle reasoning; the problem there was using the FBI as an example. As a whole, the organization did a brilliant job, but for some reason the agents often sent to co-operate with NCIS tended to rub Gibbs the wrong way, leading to Gibbs having a less than stellar opinion of the FBI as a whole.

"Yes," at least Gibbs was succinct in his reply.

"How about the ATF, then?" Ducky pulled out the big guns; for some reason Gibbs had a better view of the ATF than the FBI. Needless to say Ducky decided not to mention the fact that Dr. Sandburg also had contacts in the CIA.

"Awe, hell," Gibbs sighed.

"That about sums it up nicely, Jethro. I think it is safe to say that our young Abigail fixated on the fact that Blair Sandburg apparently admitted to academic fraud in relation to a document purported to be his final thesis; this document was later described as a work of fiction, described a super-human type of person who could see, taste, touch, hear and smell things beyond the ken of normal mortals. Blair Sandburg referred to these people as Sentinels." Ducky watched Gibbs closely as he filled in the investigator on the facts that he had ascertained while waiting for Gibbs and company to return to NCIS. Long association allowed the ME to spot the minute _tell_ that verified that Gibbs knew something about which Ducky now spoke.

"But he admitted fraud, correct?" Gibbs was now stuck wondering how far down his own throat he had just shoved his foot.

"Apparently as a lure to draw media attention away from a protection detail for a union boss named Jack Bartley who had been targeted for assassination. Bartley was apparently trying to unite the longshoremen, which was making him extremely unpopular with the shipping companies," Ducky continued to explain the case details that were available to the general public, if they bothered to look past the admission of fraud. "A hired killer, one Klaus Zeller, had apparently been able to escape once due to the interference of the press corps," a fact Ducky happily emphasized as Gibbs had little time for, and even less tolerance, of the media when it interfered in his cases.

Well past his knee-caps, apparently was the answer to how far he'd shoved his foot in it. "And yet Abby still believes him to be a fraud," Gibbs finally countered.

"Yes, well our Abby is a little naive in the ways of the world," Ducky spoke plainly, "and her absolute belief in the truth of science sometimes gets in the way of seeing consequences that sometimes might follow. After all, the Chief of Police is one record as having awarded Blair Sandburg, then only a police observer, the keys to the city as a thank you for the young man's willingness to sacrifice his personal credibility in a way that led directly to the incarceration of a known hit man and the eventual successful prosecution of several corrupt members of various shipping companies."

"But," Gibbs attempted to explain that Sandburg apparently hadn't lied but was cut short as the ME continued to speak over Gibbs' comments.

"Now, of course, if Blair Sandburg had identified a type of person who could listen to a conversation from a mile away without the need for complex surveillance equipment, just imagine what various agencies might do to employ such an individual."

Gibbs could. In fact Gibbs already had considered just what Ellison could do and the black-ops part of his history had salivated at the thought. Suddenly Gibbs found that he was regretting his pre-emptive summons to the interrogation room as he was going to be forced to break one of his own cardinal rules; he owed Sandburg an apology. It looked like Blair Sandburg was a man of considerable honor even going so far as to commit professional suicide to protect his own for that is what Sandburg had done, Gibbs was certain. It didn't matter if there had been a retraction or the awarding of medals, even Gibbs knew just how cut-throat academics could be -- Stan Burley having explained that fact once in considerable detail when they'd been investigating the murder of an ROTC student by his professor in Military Studies.

Of course, Gibbs now had another problem on his hand, dealing with Abby and the high dudgeon she'd be in believing that the Gods of Science had been insulted. The main sticking point was Gibbs was going to need Sandburg and Ellison's permission to read Abby in so he could also explain why she should forget she'd ever read anything about Guides and Sentinels. "Does Abby know any of the rest of the story?"

"I don't think she was particularly interested in reading about the retractions or, as she put it, the excuses. As I said, a little single-minded when viewing her God, Scientific Method."

"Great, just great." Gibbs started to frown as a tension headache began to make itself known.

"Tylenol, Jethro, or would you prefer a glass of bourbon?" Ducky asked with a smile as he watched the elusive expressions that fleeting showed on Gibbs' normally impassive face finally settling into one of pained concern.

"Bourbon."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Abs," Gibbs yelled over the almost deafening sounds that Abby called music.

"Gibbs, I don't have anything yet," Abby yelled back, "do I?" Abby frowned at her mass spectrometer, which was strangely silent given that Gibbs had just walked in. Normally, at least when Abby was examining items for a case, Gibbs inevitably walked in just as the case-busting results came through; it was almost supernatural.

"No, Abbs, in this case you don't have anything. I just need to have a word with you about Dr. Sandburg and Detective Ellison."

"Oh, so Ellison is a Sentinel," Abby started to dance around her laboratory before she stopped in front of Gibbs with a look of confused disappointment on her face. "Why did he lie?"

"Lie, Abbs?" Gibbs feigned ignorance of the supposed fraudulent submission by one Blair Sandburg, PhD candidate.

"You didn't know?" Abby started to babble, "of course you didn't know. You never watch television, except for the occasional football match. Oh dear…"

"Abbs," Gibbs applied the glare of death.

"Blair Sandburg admitted to academic fraud. How can he have ever gotten his doctorate? I mean, you don't go around publishing fairy tales as serious research then say you lied about it. Will his working with you on this case cause problems?"

"Abby, he didn't lie," Gibbs growled.

"What! He told the truth," Abby looked even more shocked at the idea that someone would say that the truth was a lie.

"Abby, Dr. Sandburg was awarded his degree as a result of his book _The Not So Thin Blue Line_. His work of fiction was released as a work of fact."

"Oh," Abby looked crestfallen; she hadn't connected Blair Sandburg, fraud, with Dr. Blair Sandburg, the author and profiler. "So I've just called one of the FBI's best profiler's a fraud."

"Yes, Abbs, you have." Gibbs smiled as he leant forward and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. "You might need to apologize."

"Hey, I thought you had a rule against apologizing."

"No, it's a rule about never saying sorry," Gibbs retaliated. "In this case, we are both going to ask for forgiveness, which is always easier to do than ask permission."

"We, Gibbs?"

"I may have reacted a somewhat aggressively when you called Dr. Sandburg a fraud. I stopped listening to my gut for a moment."

"Gibbs," Abby went to hug her boss.

"On another front I'll be sending Ellison down to have a look over the evidence we collected between the crime scene and the cemetery. Don't open any of the bags until he's down here and then let him look over it first," Gibbs commanded, thinking that if Ellison was a walking, talking crime laboratory, he may as well use him as one.

"Gibbs?" This time Abby was looking askance at him.

"Let's just say that I don't think Sandburg ever lied and leave it at that for the moment, Abbs."

"Oh. Oh, oh, "Abby was suddenly dancing across the laboratory to her computer station; her fingers flying as she tried to pull up copies of Sandburg's publications.

"Your Bourbon, Gibbs," Ducky commented as he walked into the forensics lab, a glass of bourbon in one hand and a sealed evidence bag in the other. "Ah, I see you've spoken with Abby."

"What you got there, Duck?" Gibbs inclined his head to indicate the contents of the bag.

"Theodore William's clothes, I thought Detective Ellison might be able to detect something off them." Ducky's comments verifying that he believed that Sandburg's fictional work had some basis in truth.

"Can't hurt to try. Abbs, I'm going to send Detective Ellison down now rather than later. Please try not to scare the poor man."

"Me?" Abbs looked affronted at the very suggestion.

"Yes, you, and turn the racket down. Ellison's got sensitive ears." Gibbs retreated with a slight smile on his face, giving Abby a tiny wave as he strode off.

"Gibbbbbbbbbbs…" Abby yelled at the retreating back.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"All right, Dr. Sandburg. . ." Gibbs walked back into the bullpen, "I apologize for my abrupt departure, but I want this scumbag behind bars." Gibbs wasn't about to actually say sorry but he hoped that Blair Sandburg would accept the excuse as a valid reason for his behavior. "I should have _asked_ you to join me in the conference room."

Blair stared long, and hard at Gibbs until the NCIS agent was actually forced to look away; one point to Blair. "Blair, Agent Gibbs, please."

"Blair," Gibbs acquiesced to the unspoken command; after all, he was on the back foot at the moment. "I've secured the conference room near forensics so we can lay out all the material we have so far."

"The evidence we brought back?" Blair asked, as he wanted Jim to look over it all, particularly the materials between the primary crime scene and the gun drop, as soon as possible.

"I've already warned Abby that I will be sending Ellison down. Ducky's also bagged the clothing that Williams had been wearing, said something about Ellison might be able to sniff out something important."

"You want to head down to forensics, Jim?' Blair asked his partner after Jim deposited his 'go' bag on one of the unclaimed desks.

"Not really," Jim sassed back, "but the sooner I get a look at everything, the sooner we can work out what's useful and what's not."

"No zoning, Jim. I mean it."

Jim, ignoring the audience, grabbed Blair and dragged him close before diving in for a long, deep, kiss.

"Hey, get a room," Gibbs and DiNozzo snarked in unison.

"Just getting my Blair level's up," Jim whispered to Blair as he pulled away. "Now, where's forensics?" Jim asked Gibbs, smirking all the while.

Gibbs glared at Ellison before he turned to the two other men, "You two follow me as well. I'll take you to the conference room, where I expect you to stay, while I then escort Ellison here down to forensics."

"Hey, I know the drill, man, so chill," Blair snapped at Gibbs. "We weren't the ones marching off and leaving unguarded visitors in the middle of a Federal Building," Blair was still thoroughly pissed with Gibbs and wasn't about to miss a chance to let the older man know he'd fucked up. The look of shock that Gibbs sent Blair's way made Blair smile, so many people, even those pre-warned, tended to expect him to be nothing more than a laid-back hippy.

Gibbs turned without replying, though this time the NCIS agent didn't march off so much as walk away, inviting the others to follow him,

"You got a death-wish there, Blair," Tony asked as he fell in beside Blair.

"Nope, just had too much experience with alpha-males," Blair smiled as he shot a wry look at Ellison. "I've found it's better to occasionally remind them I'm more than a pretty face."

"You never were just a pretty face, Chief."

"You say the nicest things, Jim," Blair smiled before he adopted a serious expression, "however, that doesn't mean you get Wonderburger for tea."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"All right, you think you can do better than my forensic tech?" Gibbs was asking as the two men walked into Abby's lab, "because I got to tell you, Abbs is hell on wheels."

"Oh Gibbs, you do say the nicest things." Abby commented before she turned and walked towards the men. Looking rather pointedly at Gibbs' empty hands though she started to frown. "Hey! Where's my Caf-Pow?"

"Haven't earned it yet, Abs."

"Spoilsport."

"My sympathies," Jim said to Gibbs as he looked at the forensic tech.

"Why?" Gibbs had no idea where that non-sequitur came from.

"She pouts almost as prettily as Sandburg," Jim nodded at Abby who was pouting, very prettily.

"Two of them?"

"Yep."

"Ellison, we are doomed."

"Hey," Abby interrupted the mutual condolence session. "You going to show me what you can do, hot stuff?" The challenge clear in her voice, after all, she was being told to let an outsider, and not even a forensic outsider, take first crack at the evidence.

"Don't let Sandburg hear you say that," Jim cautioned, "he gets a bit tetchy when challenged."

"I'm not challenging him," Abby assured Jim.

"Actually, you are. I'm good at investigative work and these senses are pretty useful," Jim acknowledged the open secret, "but Blair's the one who worked out how to use them to their fullest extent; so, questioning my ability is questioning his." The other skill sets that Jim possessed weren't mentioned, Gibbs knew some of it because of their past association but they were germane to the current investigation, yet.

"Fine," Abby wasn't the slightest bit mollified, nor was she really convinced even after Ducky had had a quiet word with her when Gibbs had gone back upstairs to collect the Cascade Detective. "Show me what you can do."

Jim looked at the array of bags on the table; the ones containing evidence from the Lovegrove Street address he ignored for the moment, wanting a chance to look over what else Blair, and company, had found. "Let's start with the gun, shall we?"

Jim stood by while he watched Abby record all the pertinent details about the _currently bagged_ gun. Jim silently mused that it didn't matter what level of law enforcement, county, state or federal, the maintenance of chain of custody was vital to successful prosecution of any case; the down side was the often high overhead in recording all required details.

It was fully ten minutes before Abby unsealed the bag holding the model 21 Winchester side-by-side barreled shotgun. "Here you go, hotshot," Abby smiled as she handed the gun over to Jim.

Jim, well aware of how to properly handle evidence, had already donned a pair of gloves though these were gloves he'd brought down with him. Generic latex gloves often led to nasty rashes on his over-sensitive skin. Jim could make out a set of partial prints on the stock of the gun but he'd bet even money they belonged to Ted Williams; as he'd seen the man holding the gun those prints were of little or no evidential value. It was what appeared to be melted plastic fused to the barrel about a third of the way up from the stock and barrel tip, that looked the most promising aspect of the item in terms of overall forensic value. "Shit," Jim ended up swearing as he focused in close on the melted mass.

"Why?" Abby, a pair of magnifying glasses perched on her nose, asked.

"Our perp's not stupid, that's for sure." Jim grabbed a pair of tweezers and carefully peeled the plastic off the gun barrel. "See, you can just make out the fact that there are two layers here. I'd say the perp is wearing two sets of gloves."

Even with the magnifying glasses on, Abby could only just see what Ellison apparently could easily discern; she's have needed to look at the gun under the large microscope to have seen that detail and even then, she had to admit, she might not have realized as quickly.

"No chance of getting even a trace DNA pattern off that," Abby commented as she had a closer look at how much material they had to work with. van Oorschot and Jones had published the ground-breaking work in 1997 that proved you could get PCR DNA results from items that had been touched or held by someone, opening forensic DNA testing up to crimes where blood or semen hadn't been left behind; but even so the prosecution still needed sufficient material to test; admittedly not much but…

"Not if you want enough for a defense attorney to have material to re-test," Jim had seen enough fallout when crucial evidence wasn't available for independent re-testing; hell, law enforcement still talked about the mess that was _the Dingo and the Baby in Australia,_ add in the recent fun with the OJ trials and no law enforcement officer worth his salt was going to pursue testing that could not be validated.

"So our murderer is aware of van Oorschot and Jones' work?" Abby mused.

"Hard to tell, he might just be extremely careful," Jim played devil's advocate which was fun for a change; normally Jim had to deal with Sandburg in that role to his theorizing. "Still, if the perp's been wearing two sets of gloves all the time, the chances of getting prints, finger or DNA, from stuff he's touched are minimal."

"So, does that tell us anything?"

"Sandburg thinks, already, that the perp's involved in law enforcement or the military or similar. Either way our perp's prints are likely to be in a database somewhere and the perp knows that; kind of narrows the field a bit."

"Sweet," Abby would have preferred to have been able to ring Gibbs and give him name, rank and serial number of the perp along with the size of his underwear but at least they had a small something to go on. "Anything else you can get from the gun, Jim?"

"Not that's going to help." Jim was already casting his eyes over the other bags of evidence neatly laid out on the laboratory's central bench. Two bags stood out; the bag of clothes that Ducky had brought up from Autopsy and the small bag that contained a few tufts of wool. "Hand me those will you, please?"

Abby watched, fascinated, as Jim carefully opened up the smaller bag, stuck his nose in and breathed deeply. "Huh?"

"First case I ever worked with Sandburg," Jim replied with a smile as he answered Abby's unspoken question, "involved tracking down a serial bomber. Some blue fibers, kind of like these, were left behind at one of the crime scenes."

"So?" The amount of material in the evidence bag was so small that Abby had been questioning the value of collecting it in the first place. At a best guess, unless the dye was some really exotic brand, all Abby had expected to be able to determine was whether or not it the fibers were natural or synthetic.

"The bomber, in that case, had been wearing a particular scent, specially mixed. After following Sandburg into every, and I mean every, perfume and specialist essential oils supplier in Cascade, I managed to work out the components and we were able identify the bomber from that. Sandburg keeps gong on, and on," Jim even went so far as to theatrically roll his eyes, "and on about how smell is one of our most powerful, yet under-rated senses."

"He's correct you know," Abby felt obliged to defend the absent scientist. "While body odor is affected by things like diet, health and various cultural mores, there is a genetic component as well."

Jim had to smile at that; never a truer set of words spoken. Take away the deodorants, cigar smell, and various perfumes and Jim could tell you that Daryl Banks was Simon and Joan's son just by smell. Hell, Blair smelled like a bit like Naomi and …

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Summary: Gibbs kicks like a mule. ~.^

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from the TV-shows "NCIS" and "The Sentinel". NCIS is created and owned by David P. Bellisarius and CBS. The Sentinel still belongs to Paramount and Pet Fly. I'm just playing… No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Beta'd by: Tejas and lightly edited by my (in)significant other... Any mistakes left are mine and somewhat deliberate.

For: Ree/Triskellion... she knows why and thanks again

* * *

Chapter Nine

Gibbs swore he hadn't been gone that long but, by the time he'd made it back up to the conference room, the room was almost unrecognizable; at least as the neat work area that it normally was. Normal was an extendable conference table, two whiteboards, and a coffee table surrounded by four low chairs. Now the coffee table and chairs had been moved aside to make room for three more desks, another two whiteboards had been commandeered from somewhere-- one of them looked suspiciously like the high tech boards in Director Morrow's office. Two computers had also been acquired, with printers, and were set up on the side board next to the coffee maker. Given that he'd ordered DiNozzo and Sandburg to stay put while he escorted Ellison down to forensics, Gibbs was momentarily at a loss for how the additional furnishings had made their way into the conference room…spotting Ducky standing just behind DiNozzo answered that question.

Strewn about the desks were files, photos, computer printouts and what looked to be half the contents of the United States Library of Congress. The other half of the library was apparently being _ferried_ in as Gerald appeared in the hallway carrying another stack of books to add to the piles already in the conference room. Gibbs neatly stepped aside to let the ME's assistant in while indicating with a finger to his lips that Gerald need not mention his presence.

Gerald complied with the unspoken command, placing the books down on the closest desk before heading back out of the room and towards the relative safety of autopsy.

"Thank you, Gerald," Ducky acknowledging the sound of the books being set down without bothering to turn away from the whiteboard he was intently scrutinizing, making his own scrawls in the minute spaces still available, alongside Sandburg and DiNozzo.

Rather than announcing his presence, Gibbs walked quietly up behind the three men and had a quick look at the conference room's main white board. The board's surface had been divided into two, with the top half showing a working timeline, whilst the bottom half was already littered with post-it notes as well as a fair collection of notations directly on the board.

"I'm fairly certain our killer sees himself as some sort of protector/avenger," Sandburg was saying, though as far as Gibbs could see there was nothing on the board that supported that statement; maybe Sandburg had _read_ that fact straight off the perp.

"A vigilante?" DiNozzo interrupted.

A good question, Gibbs was happy DiNozzo had asked, as it saved him from asking the same question. The upside of knowing their killer was a vigilante was they'd have some way of anticipating his target pool once the reason for said vigilantism was discerned. Dealing with Kyle Boone had taught Gibbs the value of being able to anticipate the behavior of a serial killer, whatever their motive. The downside was that there would be more killings.

"Our unsub might be exhibiting vigilantism, but I'm loath to come out and _call_ him a vigilante, particularly in front of the press."

"Why not?" Ducky asked. "I mean, after all, I'm sure the press will pick up the vigilante angle soon enough. They do like a sensational angle if they can find one."

"That may be the case, Doctor Mallard…"

"Ducky, please," Doctor Mallard interrupted, inviting the profiler into a select group of people who he would allow to call him by that name.

"Ducky," Sandburg acknowledged the permission, appearing to also understand the magnitude of the gesture. "The problem with calling our unsub a vigilante is that we, Americans in particular, have this kind of hero worship thing happening when it comes to vigilantes." Without Jim present to curtail his natural bent towards instruction Blair fell into teaching mode. "I mean, think about it, The A-Team, Knight Rider, Airwolf, MacGyver, Magnum, Batman, The Justice League, Spiderman, The X-Men, even the Phantom. The list goes on, and on. Individuals or teams of individuals taking out the bad man that no one else can touch. If we tell the press that our unsub is a vigilante we will, in affect, be justifying his behavior, particularly to the unsub. The last thing we need is to start feeding his into his delusion."

"I get that part," DiNozzo groused. "What I want to know is how does killing the ex-partners of Navy or Marine personnel satisfy this unsub's need for vengeance?" DiNozzo continued, showing that he had more than a little understanding of psychology hidden inside his pretty head. "For that matter, why kill at all? Look at Magnum; he didn't go around just killing people."

"No, but he wasn't above bending the law a little to bring someone to _justice_." Blair smiled as he picked up on the fact that he'd apparently just insulted one of DiNozzo's heroes. "At its roots, the term vigilante comes from the latin _vigilans_ or _vigilantis_, to watch, with vigilantism being derived from vigilante, but vigilantism or vigilante behavior has little to do with watching and more to do with acting. The vigilante illegally punishes a person or persons they think of as criminals."

"But our victims aren't criminals, are they? While I suppose there are some who might consider lawyers just one step removed from being criminals," Ducky pointed at the photograph of Baltimore's third victim, Ms Kong An. But you've also got a dentist, an IT expert and a teacher as victims." Ducky started playing devil's advocate having finally noticed Gibbs' presence asking the questions Gibbs would have been asking but he apparently didn't want to interrupt whatever train of thought Sandburg was on. "Are you even sure these are the work of a serial killer? The apparent lack of consistency in the victimology, different ethnic groups, different professions, different locations, a complete lack of criminal records, I mean, are you really certain that it is a single serial killer? Could you be suffering from a type of blinkeredness, seeing a serial where none exists?"

"I'm positive." Sandburg might have frowned at the question; Gibbs wasn't sure since he couldn't see the profiler's face, but the tone of voice suggested that Sandburg was deep in some thought trail and only marginally paying attention to those around him. Gibbs was soon disabused of the notion that Sandburg wasn't paying attention, however, when Ducky started speaking again.

"I see no evidence of a signature in the behavior of the killer, Blair. Apart from the latest victim, the tenuous connection to the Navy or the Marines for the other victims does not sound like enough to link these crimes," Ducky continued, attempting to probe Sandburg's reasoning.

"The lack of a signature is not that telling," Blair explained. "While some serial killers leave behind evidence of psychological markers, the things we call signatures, not all serial killers have a ritualistic need that they must satisfy as part of the crime act. The more functional aspects of the crime, the _modus operandi_, are more likely to be of use, as the mode of the crime will evolve into a pattern that the killer is comfortable with. As for victimology, which I think is going to be the key to identifying our unsub, we know that all of the Tony's Baltimore victims were married to a member of the Navy or the Marines. The same holds for the Peoria and Philadelphia homicides."

"But not the Pittsburg homicides," Ducky pressed. Apparently the ME had had the chance to look over the additional files that DiNozzo had brought with him.

"At first glance Pittsburg doesn't fit unless, and yes this is speculation, the first homicide was a mistake. See," Sandburg pointed to the point on the timeline where two homicides occurred in quick succession, "the first victim, Janice Gilmore, was the identical twin of the second Pittsburg victim, Sarah Hopman."

"So the killer went back and murdered the sister, what, four days later?" Gibbs' voice startled Sandberg momentarily… Gibbs had been that quiet and Sandberg was in the zone, so to speak. Gibbs was reading the timeline and didn't like what he was seeing. Between the fourteenth of November 2000 and now they had at least nine homicides from four jurisdictions that could be possibly part of the larger group and that was without the possible Boston homicides that Bunka had flagged in his interview with the press; crimes that they didn't have the details on yet.

"Yes, and one thing I don't think you are going to like, Agent Gibbs, is that I don't think the November 14 homicide is the first of them, either."

"Why not?" Tony interjected.

"Because, I expect the unsub's _modus operandi_ to improve or evolve until he's settled into a working pattern. The Baltimore murders show a similar MO to the Peoria homicides; our unsub is killing efficiently and effectively now. This self-confidence is backed up by the Pittsburg homicides. The unsub is sure enough in his ability to get to his target that, even having made a mistake, he's been able to go back and finish the task while the sister's death was being investigated."

"Wouldn't the family have been on alert?" Ducky broke back into the discussion. "Even if the local police didn't suspect the sister's death to be part of a serial homicide, wouldn't they have been closely monitoring the relatives?"

Blair suddenly swung to face Dr. Mallard, practically vibrating with excitement. "That's it, Ducky, that's it!"

"That's what?" Gibbs snapped.

"That's part of the key to the MO; the victimology. Oh, oh, oh…" Blair raced over to the table where he'd set up the Peoria and Pittsburg homicide files. "Our unsub has to have a valid reason for calling on the victims. Look," Blair held up the file for Jennifer Millwater, Peoria's first victim, at least that they were aware of. "See, no sign of forced entry."

Tony quickly stepped up beside Blair and started sorting through the Baltimore files, "Blair's right, there's no obvious sign of forced entry in the Corken, the An or the Jones homicides. Given what Ellison did to the door at the Kirby residence, we may never be able to determine if entry was forced or not, but I'd be willing to bet Kirby let the perp in as well."

"So you think the killer was known to _all _the victims?" Gibbs wasn't buying that…that sort of link would have been obvious, even to the most untrained detective. The same name appearing in known-to-victim lists across multiple homicides should have raised a red flag somewhere.

"Not necessarily known to the victims," Blair commented, easily picked up on Gibbs' disbelief. "What if the unsub approached the victims as a representative of the Navy? That would probably get them through the front door without too many problems."

"Actually that would work rather well, don't you think, Jethro?" Ducky smiled as he asked. "After all, in the course of_ your_ investigations _you_ often have need to interview current, and past, partners of Naval and Marine personnel. How often does flashing your badge get you through the front door?"

"Damn," Gibbs wasn't at all pleased with where Sandburg and Ducky were going with this. "Hell, the only time my badge doesn't easily get me through the door is when I need a warrant. So are we looking for someone in law enforcement?"

"Not necessarily, Agent Gibbs," Blair answered while continuing to flick though the open files in front to him, "I can think of at least three professions that would get me through the front door without too many questions; priests, doctors, counselors. That's why I think we need to look over the victims' details again. The _why_ of these homicides is in the victimology, we just need to find it."

"So you are really sure it is a serial?" Tony asked, seeking reassurance. Now that he had access to the actual details from Pittsburg and Peoria, his pet theory wasn't looking so hot, at least to him. When he'd heard Ducky's comments about a kind of blinkeredness Tony had worried that that was exactly what he'd had done; seen a serial where none existed.

"Oh, I'm sure, Tony." Blair didn't even bother to hide the fact that he was reassuring the Baltimore detective. "Very sure. The only thing I'm not sure of, is just how many kills our unsub has made."

"And the Navy connection?" Gibbs snapped.

"Is likely to be part of the key to the victimology," Blair commented with a wry grin. "That also means there is more than enough reason for you to keep point control of the case, Agent Gibbs. In the meantime, I'm going to need access to the naval employment database, and the movements and deployments of the victims' partners."

"I'll get Abby up here to set you up," Gibbs stated as he picked up the phone. "She's better at pulling that sort of information." Gibbs could, and would, use the computing tools and databases available to him when he had to, but he wasn't above getting the _right_ person in to do the job faster and better than he could.

"How about you log me in, Agent Gibbs?" Tony interrupted Gibbs' dialing. "I'm a fair hand at querying databases and that leaves Abby free to work with Ellison."

Gibbs looked at Tony, really looked at him.

Tony, who'd survived his father - an alpha businessman of the highest order, his military academy instructors, and everything his police academy instructors threw at him, didn't flinch, just. Something about stare seemed to strip away the 'frat boy' and look at the man beneath.

"No poking around where you're not supposed to be," Gibbs admonished as he logged into the NCIS system. "Ducky, you mind keeping an eye on these two while I go talk to Abby?"

"Not at all, Jethro," Ducky smiled indulgently at the retreating back.

"Not much of a conversationalist, is he?" Tony smiled warmly at Ducky, all the while filing away the hand movements he'd observed as Agent Gibbs had logged on.

"You'll get used to it, my dear boy," Ducky warned Tony.

* * *

"Abs, what you got for me?" Gibbs walked into the lab worried about the lack of sound; normally you could hear Abby's music from two blocks away.

Abby turned and eyed Gibbs up and down, frowning as she noticed a distinct lack of Caf-Pow forthcoming. "Nothing, if you don't have anything for me," she teased her boss.

"Something like this?" Gibbs lifted a mega-sized Caf-Pow into view.

"You're forgiven." Abby beamed a smile at her boss as she grabbed the drink container and began to commune with its contents.

"So," Gibbs looked pointedly at the evidence strewn about Abby's lab.

"I matched the shoe print. Turns out it's from a rip-off Gucci cap-toe Chelsea boot; not real popular but not terribly unpopular either."

"How do you know it's a rip off?"

"Tread patterns right, but the shape of the heel is slightly off when compared to the actual Gucci last. They're good quality rip-offs, don't get me wrong, Gibbs, but they are still ripoffs. I think your killer likes to dress pretty, kind of like that Italian stallion you left upstairs," Abby had apparently paid more than a little attention to the cut of DiNozzo's tailoring, "but he can't afford the real stuff."

"That's good, Abs, anything else?"

"Hey, no need to get greedy," Abby smiled as she told Gibbs off. "Thanks to Jim-boy, here, we also know that the killer's smarter than your average killer."

Gibbs turned to face Ellison, who was apparently lost in a study of the killer's clothing. "Ellison," Gibbs barked when the man failed to acknowledge Abby's obvious lead in.

Jim didn't move.

"Hey, Ellison!" This time the bark had some bite but it might as well have been a whimper for all the affect it had.

Abby, having read enough about _Sentinels_ to be dangerous, recognized what was wrong, but before she had a chance to voice a warning, Gibbs had applied his standard technique for gaining someone's attention; the head slap.

Chaos broke loose.

Ellison, rarely zoning – today being something of an exception-- and generally brought out of said zone, gently, by Blair or someone trained by Blair, was startled out of the zone and reacted accordingly. The clothing that had been the cause of his zone was dropped, he pivoted on his right leg, using his left leg to sweep Gibbs' feet out from beneath him.

Gibbs barely managed to catch himself before he fell face down, his Marine training saving him that ignominious fate. Springing backward and dropping into fighting stance, legs slightly apart and just on the diagonal, weight balanced, his arms up and ready to defend, Gibbs waited to see what Ellison would do next. It wasn't long in coming.

Jim, still slightly disoriented by the brutal way he's been snapped out of the zone and not able to sense Blair nearby, struck out at the perceived threat. Left leg snapping a kick to the groin before dropping to the ground as Jim stepped forward and followed the move up with right cross to the jaw.

Gibbs successfully blocked both moves, though the right cross only just. "Ellison, snap out of it before I do something we'll both regret," Gibbs roared as he stepped back out of reach.

Ellison followed apparently intent on putting Gibbs down.

Gibbs, with no choice now but to defend himself, fought back with quiet efficiency.

Abby, who had enjoyed _Fight Club_ and had actually wondered what it would be like to be up _close and personal_ found she didn't like the whole up close and personal. Ellison and Gibbs were very evenly matched and it looked like the only way this fight would end was going to be when one of the two men final made a mistake.

The mistake, when it was made, was slight and was the result of the laboratory's layout rather than an action of either man. As Gibbs sidestepped the Mass Spectrometer, he passed a hair too close to Ellison and that was enough to tip the scales. Jim, in the midst of a left punch to the gut over-balanced and Gibbs took advantage, grasping Jim's fist and twisting in an Aikido move that turned and forced Ellison up against the wall. The move however cost Gibbs a black eye before Ellison settled and finally worked out where he was.

Face pressed, hard, against the wall, Ellison suddenly shook before he relaxed within the bounds of Gibbs restraint.

"You back with us now?" Gibbs asked as he stepped back and away. When Ellison finally indicated he was _with them_ now Gibbs growled, "Still pack a mean punch."

"You too," Ellison acknowledged. "Any chance both of you won't tell Sandburg about this?" Jim looked hopefully at Abby who was currently hiding in her office and obviously not sure if it was safe to come out yet.

"Not a chance," Gibbs smirked while he rubbed the side of his face. "Abs, it's safe to come out now."

"You sure?" Abby peeked around the door, looking at both combatants. Once she was certain hostilities were not about to recommence, she took a look around her lab. The dark look that she turned on Gibbs and Ellison was enough to make both men step back and away from the now _enraged_ forensic scientist. "Gibbs, if you've so much as scratched Major Masspec, they'll never find your body."

"Hey, "Gibbs growled, "he started it." Gibbs pointed at Ellison.

"But I'll finish it," Abby was not a happy camper. "So, Jim, what did you zone on this time?" The smile she sent along with the request was as good as any Blair had sent his way when ever Jim was in _deep_ kimchi.

Ellison might have been an ex-ranger, he might still be an active detective, he was a Sentinel, but one thing he wasn't was a fool. Dangerous things came in small packages that smiled, take Blair, for example, and Abby looked as though she was cut from the same cloth. "Any chance I can have a private word with Dr. Mallard?" Jim asked by way of explanation.

Gibbs, and Abby, blinked at that non-sequitur.

"I'm sure I can pull him away," Gibbs commented wryly while he allowed a pointed look to rest momentarily on Ellison's cheek where a rather spectacular bruise could be seen forming. "Better get him to give you a once over, Ellison."

Jim, and Abby, noticed that no mention was made of Dr. Mallard looking over one Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"Duck, could you meet us down in Autopsy?" Gibbs hung up before the other man had a chance to ask why.

"That was abrupt, even for you, Gibbs," Abby scolded.

"Discretion, Abby, is often the better part of valor." Gibbs returned fire. "I've got the feeling if I had mentioned why, we'd would have had Sandburg and DiNozzo joining us as well. Pretty sure Ellison here doesn't want Sandburg around while he talks to Ducky and that was before we'd had our little tussle."

"Damn straight." Jim was still trying to work out how to explain the new bruises particularly when playing least in sight wasn't a possibility.

* * *

Doctor Mallard walked into Autopsy and very nearly decided to walk out again. The sight of Gibbs and Ellison, both sporting more than a couple of bruises _each_ was enough to make him question the wisdom of his chosen profession. "What have you two _gentlemen_ been up to?" Ducky asked as he approached Gibbs; disapproval in every line of his posture.

"Getting acquainted," Gibbs snapped. Ellison might not have actually cracked his ribs but Gibbs was sufficiently familiar with feeling of bruised ribs to know that he needed some strapping and pain meds, post-haste. The only saving grace, at least as far as Gibbs was concerned, was that Ellison had been favoring his right leg as they'd come down from Abby's lab.

"Jethro," Ducky scolded, "didn't your parents teach you to play well with others?" The eye roll that accompanied the question indicated that the comment had been made in jest, though the tone was fairly disapproving. "On second thoughts, Jethro, don't answer that question."

"He started it," Gibbs complained as he nodded his head toward Ellison. Gibbs was more than a little annoyed that everyone seemed to be taking the ex-ranger's side in this debate.

"Actually, Ducky, I think is might be your fault," Abby chimed in.

"My fault?" Ducky blinked at the non sequitur.

"Jim was looking over Williams' clothing when he zoned, Duck," Abby was almost bouncing in place as she smelled a mystery wrapped in the victim's clothing.

"Ahhhhhhhhh," Ducky mused as he efficiently dealt with Gibbs' injuries. "Do I need to have a closer look at the clothing again?" Ducky asked Ellison, once he'd finished taping Gibbs' ribs. "I would have thought that sort of inspection was better suited to our Abigail, here. Now, why don't you let me take a look at you, Detective Ellison, while you fill us in?"

Jim didn't want to fill_ us _in; he didn't want to fill anyone in, but it was beginning to look like he'd have little choice. Still, never one to give up without a fight, Jim resorted to standard practice when asked questions he didn't want to answer. He stood, stoic and silent, and jaws clenched so hard any dentist within a five mile radius would be able to hear the sound a new BMW being delivered courtesy of Jim Ellison and an extreme case of TMJ.

The silence stretched across Autopsy as Jim blatantly failed to fill anyone in.

"Ellison," Gibbs started to growl but any further comments were effectively silenced as Ducky stepped into the metaphorical breach.

"Oh dear, that's a rather nasty bruise you've got there, Detective Ellison," Ducky observed as he looked over Ellison's left shin, hoping to ease the tension he could see in the man's jaw line.

"Gibbs always did kick like a mule." Jim still wasn't about to broach the reason he wanted to talk with Dr. Mallard.

"Yes, I've noticed that," Ducky agreed as he started to poke and prod the inflamed shin in an attempt to determine the level of damage. "It doesn't look like Jethro managed to break anything, but I'd recommend staying off that leg as much as possible for the next day or two. We've got ice up in the break room. How about I send Abby up to grab some and we ice that leg down a bit?"

"Ducky," Abby almost whined.

"Abs," Gibbs silenced her with a look having picked up on the fact that Ellison wasn't going to say anything in front of an audience. The question on Gibbs' mind was, would Ellison talk in front of him, or would Ducky need to manufacture an excuse to get him to leave autopsy as well.

"Jethro, would you mind accompanying Abby?" That answered that question was Gibbs' only thought as Ducky spoke.

"We won't be long, Duck," Gibbs almost forcibly escorted Abby out of Autopsy.

"Now, Detective Ellison," Ducky started rummaging around in his desk drawer for some Tylenol. "I take it that you would like a private word?"

Jim cast his sense of hearing out making sure that Abby, of the big mouth and too much enthusiasm, was out of earshot before he addressed the Medical Examiner. "How well did you know Ms Sandburg?"

It was Ducky's turn to blink. The ME had been expecting some commentary of his scientific technique, for want of a better word.

"I'm not sure I understand your question, Detective." Ducky was more than a little perplexed.

"Earlier today you mentioned you knew _a_ Ms Sandburg once. I'd like to know how well you knew her." Jim wasn't giving anything away.

"I'm not sure it is your concern, Detective Ellison," Ducky had dealt with Gibbs in high dudgeon before so squaring off with a pissed of Jim Ellison was _almost_ a walk in the park.

"Actually, I think it is." Jim wasn't giving ground. "Did you know Ms Naomi Sandburg in the biblical sense, and if so, when?"

"Naomi Sandburg?" A very fond look crossed Ducky's face as he remembered a particularly vibrant and vivacious red-haired with whom he'd spent a summer touring the great mystical sites of England, Scotland and Wales; sneaking into Stonehenge and celebrating the goddess had been one of the most magical encounters of his entire life.

"Yes, Naomi Sandburg," Jim said, half-dreading the answer. "Red-haired, sage burning, enlightenment-seeking, tongue-eating, Naomi Sandburg; mother to one Blair Sandburg. _That_ Naomi Sandburg!"

* * *

TBC…


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

It was Ranger-trained reflexes and Sentinel monitoring that combined to prevent Ducky from landing ignominiously on the floor. Office chairs tended to roll out from under people if they sat down the wrong way, and collapsing back into an office chair definitely countered as the wrong way.

"Oh, my..." Ducky did a double-take as he processed what Jim had just said. "Naomi… ummm, Sandburg? Blair's mother? Oh my..." Ducky said again, just to make it more real.

"You didn't know?" The question was purely rhetorical. Jim had been monitoring Ducky from the moment he'd started his tirade, so he was well aware of the heart rate spike the moment the Doctor had connected the dots.

''Absolutely none." Ducky whispered, still processing.

"Damn," Jim did not sound happy. "We're gonna have to tell Blair, you realize."

Ducky blinked at the pronouncement, "Are certain that is the right course of action, my boy?" Finding out you had a fully-grown son would throw anyone off their game. Luckily for the good doctor, his tone of voice was tinged with worry and regret rather than any emotion that said he really didn't want to acknowledge any possible connections Blair Sandburg.

"If we don't and Blair finds out… well, let's just say that Blair has a temper", Jim commented with fond tolerance. For all of Blair protestations about how he didn't really care about the identity of his father; he'd had a fantastic childhood; he'd seen seven world series finals; he'd been to six of the seven continent before he was a teen… However, the lack of knowledge about where he came from truly worried the younger man. As for the eternal scientist in Blair, Jim was certain that Blair would be fascinated by the idea that Dr Mallard was actually setting off all of Jim's 'extra sentinel' protective instincts. Even after all this time Sandburg didn't quite get the idea that the Guide, a phrase tossed off by Brackett, and that was probably why Blair ignored it, was as an important a concept as the Sentinel concept. A Guide was born much as a Sentinel was; someone just couldn't 'be a Guide'.

"Ahh," Ducky actually looked mildly amused by that fact." 'But will Blair want to find out?" The good doctor actually sounded unsure, as though the actual knowledge of his parentage might not be acceptable to the younger man.

"Doc, did you know or even suspect that Naomi Sandburg might be carrying your child?" To the point, that was Jim.

"Never." Duckyglared at Jim, pulling himself to his meager 5' 5" self, eyeballing him as much as he could. Jim actually took a mental step back, acknowledging Ducky's indignation at the implied slight that he would have ever abandoned a lady in need. ''I spent a wonderful summer with Ms Sandburg touring through the English isles, She was such a beautiful young woman, so full of life."

"She still is,'' Jim murmured.

"I was actually working up the courage to ask her to be a bit more, as it were, when, like Summer turns to Autumn, our relationship changed… not for any reason I could fathom… She just said she had to go. She would not tell my why, and that has tortured me all these years." Ducky looked like he'd finally gotten the answer to a question he'd never even knew he needed the answer to. "She never gave any indication…" Ducky frowned, "never said."

"And you haven't heard for her since?" Jim asked, suddenly certain he was sure he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Oh, we've kept in contact a little over the years. Just a note or two from time to time, birthday cards, christmas, that sort of thing." Ducky's tone of voice suggested that he, also, didn't like his own answer to Jim's question.

"So, she really never let on?"

"Never."

Jim thought he'd made his peace with Naomi and her interfering in Blair's life… _thought_, it appeared, was the operative word.

Ducky, taking one look at the overworked jaw muscles, attempted to derail Jim's anger before every dental surgeon within a five mile radius descended on the Navy Yard, "What made you suspect?"

"Your smell… Blair smell's a little like you,'' Jim explained. "In fact, that's what I'd zoned on,'' Jim continued, being somewhat more forth coming than was his usual want. "What do you know about Sentinels, Doctor Mallard?"

"Only what I've read of Blair's works," Ducky sounded inordinately pleased at the fact that he had, unknowingly, read and enjoyed the work Blair had published as part of his masters thesis, "Why?"

"I know that you are aware of the Guide idea," Jim alluded to the converstation back at the Lovegrove street address.

"Caught that, did you?" Ducky asked with a smile.

"I tend to catch anything that concerns my Guide… now." Jim didn't raise his voice but his body language indicated that messing with Blair Sandburg was a dangerous thing to do, even if you were the parent of said person. Ducky heard the message loud and clear, acknowledging the power and responsibility.

"I take it there is a story here?" Ducky was always curious, sometimes to his detriment. On reflection, he thought that he should not have asked that last question…

"One that involves Naomi," Jim might have been momentarily distracted but his anger had come back up quickly when Ducky, inadvertantly, refered to that time known as _the Dissertation Mess_ or _Jim should have bought a clue_.

"And it is not a happy one, I take it?"

"Let's just say that while mistakes were made by all parties, I'll be paying for mine for the rest of Blair's life." Jim would never willingly admit it was the fear of Blair's success that had been the catalyst for his over-reaction. Just like with the Barnes Affair, Jim had reacted first, listened a very poor second. By the time he'd _heard,_ Blair had committed academic suicide.

"Ah, I see… the claims of being a fraud?" Ducky had always suspected there was more to the tale than the three-day wonder that had had the Nobel Prize committee backpedalling along with Rainier University.

"Totally unfounded. Sandburg deserved the Nobel Prize, the money, the accolades, everything."

"And yet he gave it all up?" Ducky rather thought that it sounded like his son, and wasn't that a kicker, was quite the sort of person he'd like to be able to claim was his son. "I think I'm going to look forward to getting to know my son," Ducky smiled, "yes, I think I am."

"Just be prepared to answer just about every question conceivable to mankind, and a few that aren't, about every detail of your life.'' Jim was starting to relax as it became apparent that Doctor Mallard was rather excited by the idea that he had a son.

"I should warn you I am capable of conceiving of quite a lot of questions," Ducky replied with a smile.

"So that's where he gets it from,'' Jim was really starting to the NCIS ME. "Oh Gods,'' Jim suddenly went a white shade of pale as he continued to think through the implication that he had _smelt_ the fact that Donald Mallard was Blair's father, "there will be tests."

"Tests?"

"Yes, tests. Lots and lots of tests; small ones, big ones, disgusting ones,'' Jim visibly shuddered at the memory of one particularly nauseating set of tests. Said set of tests had involved touch, smell and some questionable samples that had been taken from the Men's locker room at the Cascaded Police Department. When Jim had complained, rather loudly, Blair, still reeling from the fallout of the Dissention mess, had bluntly told Jim to suck it up or he was going to bring out the samples that Inspector Connor had collected from the Women's locker room: Jim had wisely shut up, and sucked it up, but he still shuddered at the memory.

Ducky watched, rather amused, at the play of emotions that danced on Jim Ellison's face. It was like a switch had been flicked somewhere; Ellison, who had until now, seemed a rather cold and closed off person and about as warm and friendly as carved granite, suddenly seemed a much kinder person; a good thing as far as Ducky was concerned. Ducky had already worked out that Jim was Blair's partner in every sense of the word and he'd found he hadn't liked the idea of his son being attached to such a cold individual. "Dare I ask what sort of tests?" Ducky was admittedly curious about what sort of tests Blain would want to perform, after all, the fact that Jim had smelt the relationship was not exactly earth shattering… interesting, but not earth shattering.

"Blair has helped two other Sentinel-Guide pairs come together," Jim frowned a little as Ducky looked confused at the apparent nonsequitur. "Anyone with enough _training_ can function as a stop-gap Guide but a real Guide is born to it, just like a Sentinel. Blair will need to test how quickly you can spot a zone and pull me out of one," and Jim was going to suggest these tests.

"But didn't you just say that training was needed if someone was to act as a stopgap?" Ducky wasn't sure he wanted to be _volunteered_ to pull Ellison out of a zone given the condition that Gibbs had been in.

"Don't worry, Doc, I won't hurt you." It didn't even take Sentinel skills to work out what Ducky had been thinking. "In fact, I don't think I could hurt you." That comment earned Jim a very interrogative eyebrow.

"I've learned to pay attention to what Blair calls my extra-Sentinel instincts. You've been setting off those instincts from the moment we met."

"Oh."

"Yes, Oh."

Whatever else Jim might have said was suddenly curtailed as he listened ion one what else was going on in the building. "Time to go, Duck," Jim was suddenly helping the ME to his feet and guiding the man towards the elevator even as he focused his hearing three floors up when he'd become aware the Blair's heart rate was spiking.

"Is everything alright?" Ducky was more than a little confused at the sudden need to be in the conference room.

"Blair's just heading for a stroke," Jim smiled wistfully. "Seems he worked out that Gibbs and I had a slight altercation. . ."

"I would not have called it a slight altercation, Jim," Ducky shot a look at Ellison that would have done Gibbs or Simon Banks proud.

"And Gibbs let on that I wanted to talk to you in private." Jim, well used to significant looks ignored Ducky completely. "

"And that is a problem how?"

"Blair's worried that you might need your own services, Duck. Heart-rates spiking," Jim tilted his head a little as he listened a touch more intently, "and his sugar level's probably ditching. So the sooner we get up there the sooner he'll calm down."

"Ahh, and when did you last eat, detective?" Ducky cast a knowing glance at his companion.

"I'll take the fifth on that."

"Then it might behove us to deal with the dietary requirements of all concerned," Ducky was willing to bet that Gibbs had been subsisting on caffeine and was likely to need additional sustenance as well. If Blair needed to eat then Ducky intended to guilt Jethro into food as well. "What about young Mr DiNozzo?"

"He's probably eaten as much as Blair," was all Jim was willing to say.

"To the conference room, James," Ducky wasn't above a little playfulness when the situation warranted it.

"Aren't you just the tiniest curious?" Tony asked, nonchalantly, as he started keying in the username and password into the second computer that had been set up in the conference room. Tony wasn't above (pun fully intended) using his height to look over people's shoulders whenever they logged onto various computer systems. Gibbs was tall, but Tony was taller and thus he'd memorized Gibbs username and password when Gibbs had first logged Tony onto the computer currently running the VICAP queries

"About what?" Blair looked up from the pile of paperwork he'd read, well, pretended to read at least three times since Doctor Mallard had been summoned down to Autopsy.

"Oh, I don't know, the suspicious summons of Doctor Mallard, maybe?" Tony commented as the NCIS main screen finally displayed on the monitor in front of him.

"Um, nope?" Blair hedged. It wasn't a lie after all, Blair wasn't the _tiniest _bit curious, he was _what the hell is going on level _curious.

Tony looked over his shoulder to where Blair was sitting and eyeballed him though Tony failed miserably to match Gibbs' effortless hairy-eyeball stare. Blair smirked a little, ignoring Tony's attempt at intimidation. "I bet you're glad you are not under oath at the moment, Dr. Sandburg," Tony's easy smile negating any ill feeling the glare might have engendered. "Now that's interesting," Tony murmured, a little louder than he'd intended, as Gibbs' service history was displayed.

Blair, finally having given up trying to make heads, tails or even Rorschach blots out of the file he was reading, wandered over to join Tony at the sideboard; Blair's curiosity piqued by Tony's inadvertent murmur.

"Speaking about being under oath, what are you up to, Tony?" Blair pointed at the computer screen in front of Tony. "I distinctly remember Gibbs told you no poking around where you're not supposed to."

Tony didn't even bother trying to defend his actions, "Like you wouldn't be poking about here if you had the chance."

"True," Blair treated Tony to his special mega-watt smile. "The thing is I've got far better databases to play in. Want me to see what I can dig up?"

"So… you're not interested for your own sake, right?" Tony demonstrated again that he was a fair hand at character reading, even when that character was someone who could control his own responses as well as Blair could.

Actually, Blair wasn't really interesting in finding out about Gibbs, much, but he wasn't going to bother hacking databases for that information; Blair would be going to the source and Jim would be disclosing in full and complete detail. If Jim was lucky said disclosure would result in a very _lucky_ Jim as Blair wasn't above a little voyeuristic pleasure, either. Still, that would have to wait till later. Now, Blair was more concerned with what was up with his partner and the quickest, covert, method required hacking the security video feeds from the various surveillance cameras that were stationed strategically about the building. "Guilty, your Honor. Now move over," Blair actually hip-butted Tony aside as he took control of the keyboard.

Tony, hoping to get the juicy details on Leroy Jethro Gibbs was soon disappointed, though he wasn't about to complain, as he watched a master at work. Tony soon realized that Blair could not only get the computer to sit up and beg he'd have had it dancing the tango in no time, as well.

"Nifty." The view of Autopsy appeared, sans sound, showed Ducky handing Jim a couple of tablets.

"Shit! Shit, shit, damn, blast. I'm so going to roast your ass, Ellison."

"Hey, what's the problem?" Tony was somewhat surprised at Blair's reaction. "Jim must have needed a couple of Tylenol, no big deal."

"No big deal?" Blair's tone was somewhere between a screech and a well-rehearsed rant. "Stupid, stubborn, Sentinel." Blair did a fairly good impression of Jim and his normal teeth grinding behavior.

"Not following you here," Tony said, completely nonplussed at what he considered a massive over-reaction.

"Jim reacts… strangely… to most normal medications."

"And? Not following you here."

"Jim doesn't voluntarily take any form of pain-meds." Blair snapped, angry in part that Jim hadn't even thought to check in with him; these days they went with err on the side of caution even when dealing with members of the medical profession read in on the Sentinel sensitivities issues. For Jim to trust so readily irked; Blair was a big enough man to admit it irked but it didn't stop it, irking that is. "I have to just about shove the damn pills down his throat, all the while monitoring for adverse reactions!" Blair continued though he didn't mention that he was as bad, if not worse, when it came to taking pain-meds, but then Blair's reasons had everything to do with not polluting his body anymore than necessary. Jim's reasons had everything to do with funny side effects and pretty lights.

"Jim must have zoned." Blair muttered as he leaned forward, almost like he was trying _phase_ into the monitor. "Jim, what the hell triggered this zone?" Blair was now gripping the sides of the monitor now, shaking it, as if by sheer force of will Blair could get the machine to answer.

The machine stayed (wisely) silent, though if it had been sentient it would have been moving away, far away. Blair's tone of voice suggested that, when he caught up with Ellison, words would be had, many words, many very pointed words; if words were weapons, and in Blair's mouth they may as well have been, then Jim was in for a load of pain.

"Huh?" The interrogative eyebrow wasn't required.

"Jim tends to react _badly_ when startled out of a zone," Blair wasn't about to admit how badly but he was certain Tony could join the dots fairly well. "And given Gibbs seems to like whacking people…"

"Well, shit."

"Exactly. Jim zones, Gibbs whacks, violence follows. Ducky gets called down to administer first-aid, or last rites"

"And that's what we're watching, now?"

"Nope, this is then. The video feed is on a time delay."

"What, so we can't just fast forward to now?" Tony asked feeling liked he'd fallen into a Mel Brooks' movie. "So what is happening now?"

"I've no idea," Blair was still focused on the screen trying to discern what, if any, damage had been done to his Sentinel.

"We could always head down to Autopsy…" Tony suggested.

"What, and chance running into Gibbs, unescorted, running around the building?" Blair looked at Tony, Tony looked back at Blair; both men had looks of near identical looks of horror at the idea.

"Yeah, probably not a good idea, no. Any chance that you could do a little of that Voodoo you do so well? Given the limitations of the technology," Tony nodded at the screen, and the video of Jim who was suddenly rather intensely questioning Doctor Mallard.

Blair, shifting his focus from the screen seriously thought about Tony's suggestion before deciding he really didn't want to be seen _checking_ up on his partner; having hacked into NCIS' video feed was going to ring Jim's alarm bells enough. Jim was upright and mobile and Blair would find out all the details later. "No voodoo." Blair decided that a definitive statement was needed given the light of rushed in Tony's eyes, "and no more watching. We've a serial homicide to solve." Blair killed the video feed.

"That's it, take away on my fun.'' Tony pouted a pout worthy of induction into the hangdog pout hall of fame, Then, like flicking a light switch, Tony was all business again, "So Mr. Profiler Man, what are we looking for?"

"A needle in a haystack," Blair commented.

"Just great."

"Hey, it could be worse," Blair, now focused on the data scrolling across the other computer's screen - the results of Tony's initial VICAP search- quipped, "much worse."

"Do I even want to know how?"

"Probably not," Blair was about to start explaining how things could be worse - and with his experiences as Cascade's Major Crimes division observer and subsequent work as a detective for same - Blair had a lot of experience of things going from bad to catastrophic with a quick detour through way worse to draw on, when a repeated acronym caught his attention as it scrolled up the screen; EOD.

"What have you got?" Tony asked; the pole-axed expression on Blair's face suggesting something big.

"A link, I think." The VICAP search data was still scrolling passed. Blair, eyes flicking back and forth, watched the screen with a level of attention normally only seen in felines moments before they pounced on their prey. Two minutes later and a third repeat and Blair was now looking at Tony. "Fire VICAP up on the second machine," Blair instructed, "then rerun your initial search but add in limit to the naval personal."

"New limit?"

"Search for anyone who deals with explosive ordinance in anyway."

"Want to walk me through your reasoning?" Tony invited as he set up the new search. "See what other cobwebs you shake free," Tony was well versed in the fine art of self-interrogation that was part and parcel of positing various scenarios when you were trying to get a handle on motive; explaining your thought processes to someone else often helped solidify those nebulous links.

Tony wasn't the only investigator in the room well versed in posit and rebut, and, Blair was not one to pass up any resource snagged a large sheet of clean paper and started writing as he thought out loud. "Okay, here's what we know, the suspect's male."

"And we know this, how?" Tony took the role of devil's advocate.

"Okay, that one we _don't_ know but our perp is male." Blair smiled his thanks at Tony, posit play was best done based on known _knowns_; easier to explain to the mundane of the world like District Attorneys' and Judges. "So far we've got at least 9 victims all connected to the Navy or Marines but what else do they have in common?"

"Apart from alimony and amicable divorces, you mean? Not a lot as far as I can tell." Tony started thinking out loud. "I mean race, religion, political stance, nothing in common, and if we don't find some way of narrowing the search parameters, we might end up with a couple of forests worth of print outs," The last was said as Tony looked at the first return screen for his VICAP search.

"What if it's not what the victims have in common but what the victim's ex-partners have in common?"

"Huh? What, apart from being Navy?"

"Or Marine," Blair quipped back. They might be allied branches of the American Defense Force but Navy was still Navy and the Marines were The Marines.

"Blair," Tony did a much better hairy-eyeball this time.

"That's where the explosive ordnance bit comes in," Blair nodded at the computer still running the original search, "I think when your second search finishes we'll have a couple more victims to add to our tally."

"More?" Tony didn't like the sound of that.

"How many?" Gibbs hadn't been to pleased to hear that snippet as he walked, well, limped, into the Conference room. Luckily, neither Sandburg nor DiNozzo had been paying attention to anything outside the room so, Gibbs was fairly sure neither man had been aware that he was favoring one leg over the other

"At least three, Gibbs," Blair acknowledged as he looked up and just as quickly disabused Gibbs of the notion that his run in with Ellison could be swept under the carpet, "Recovered from exercising with Jim, I see."

"How'd he know?" Abby rather rudely asked. She had walked in with Gibbs and the two of them had gotten seated before Gibbs had said anything, so it wasn't like Sandburg had seen the fact that Gibbs was slightly busted; another mark against Sandburg in Abby's mind. You just didn't go round busting Gibbs; Gibbs did the busting and she was certain that it was all Blair's fault, even though the younger man had been nowhere near Ellison when he'd gone all Ranger on Gibbs' ass.

"Abbs," Gibbs understood why Abby cross, but he thought she'd understood _no pissing off Sandburg_. Of course, in this case, unknown to everyone present, Abby actually more or less had the right of it; after all, Jim had zoned because of Blair, just a little more indirectly that Abby thought.

"Would you believe, logic," Blair had had enough though he was glad the video feed was shut down. "Let's see, one, Doctor Mallard's presence is suddenly, inexplicably, required, so someone needs medical assistance. Two, Gibbs here," Blair nodded his head towards the NCIS agent, "has already shown a penchant for whacking people to gain their attention. Three, I'm betting Jim got a little too focused and Gibbs here tried his normal method of gaining someone's attention. Four, Jim's an ex-Ranger in the same way the Gibbs here is an ex-Marine; I don't think anyone sane would go startling Gibbs awake if they could avoid it." Blair tilted his head and raised an interrogative eyebrow at Gibbs.

Gibbs nodded him the point.

"Five, Jim reacted. Six, Gibbs defended. Seven, as Ducky was called, and not a priest, then I surmise that while Gibbs and Jim fought, no one was killed. How am, I doing, so far?"

Abby had the grace to look abashed before she unleashed her pout at Gibbs.

"Told you, Abby." Gibbs smiled at his forensic technician. Blair, seeing the smile could see why Jim had fallen for the man, and why Tony was fast falling. "Now, play nice, Abby, while we update each other on developments."

"You have developments?" Tony wanted Gibbs attention focused on him.

"Abby? Or do you want to wait for Duck and Ellison," the later was addressed to Blair.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Blair was about to answer Gibbs when the conference room phone rang. Further, as Gibbs got up to deal with the interruption the whole question became moot as Jim and Ducky walked in; Jim, not-so-surreptitiously, giving Blair the once over.

"Calm down before you have a stroke out there, Sandburg," was growled with just enough playfulness to remove any implied sting.

Gibbs, meanwhile, having snagged the phone, promptly wished he hadn't.

"Sandburg, were you expecting a delivery from the FBI?" Gibbs asked.

Blair, obviously taken aback for a moment, unleashed a blinding smile on the room as he worked out the where, when, what and why of the unexpected delivery. "Nope, but I can make a guess."

"And..." Gibbs wasn't impressed with the verbal dancing; it was late and they hadn't found out who their perpetrator was yet. Gibb knew that unlike the _Cop Shows_ that he'd heard discussed cases didn't just solve themselves, neatly, inside a 42 minute block... but that didn't stop him wishing that they could.

"Jason probably packed up our stuff and forwarded it here on the basis that Jim and I would be tied up helping you out," Blair explained with a smile that said he was totally going to ignore the not so subtle hints to get on with it. Blair reacted to this passive aggressive behaviour by digging his heels in, and in this case a little digging wasn't going to hurt as they weren't going to be arresting anyone tonight.

"_All_ our stuff?" A little trepidation flitted across Jim's otherwise controlled features as he tried to defuse the situation. A small huff of breath was all that indicated that Jim was more than a little amused at the thought that he was the one attempting to defuse _the_ situation.

"Don't sweat it, Jim, Jason know better than to go looking in my bag of tricks." Blair knew he shouldn't be teasing his partner, but he'd never been able to pass up the chance and he wasn't about to start now. Also, he had a little revenge to enact as well; since Jim didn't look like he was planning on explaining his _dance_ with Gibbs anytime in the near future.

"Jason might know better, but what about security at the front gate?" Jim reminded Blair that they weren't on _friendly_ territory.

"Oh shit," Blair actually started to blush as he remembered some of the items packed in his _go_ bag; things that made the essence of Sandburg he kept in his nap-sack seem tame by comparison.

So the kid can be flustered, Gibbs was amused to observe. "Security hasn't opened anything," Gibbs let a small grin play at the corner of his mouth, "yet."

"So, what sort of toys you got in your bag, Blair?" Tony joined in the fun, "Whips, chains or just a lot of leather?"

"Ohhhhh," Abby was looking at Tony with a new appreciation, "somebody else who likes to play."

"Abbs!" Gibbs fired off a stern look at his forensic technician, not that it did any thing more than serve as a warning.

"Okay, Bossman, I'll behave." She blew the whole contrite thing by dimpling at her boss.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and sighed. "Good." Gibbs turned back to face Blair, "As much as I want to catch this bastard sooner, rather than later, I think we'll all be better served reconvening first thing in the morning."

"He means 0600 or earlier," Jim smiled at Blair.

"You military types don't understand sleeping in, do you?" Blair whined, though the look on his face made it clear he was teasing. If he thought he'd get closer to ID-ing the perp by working through the night, Blair would be the first to say 'hand me the caffeine' but clear head, clear eyes, and VICAP search results would make for a faster resolution. "I'll ring Carlo and see if he's got a room free."

"Carlo?" DiNozzo wondered in a voice that suggested maybe Blair ought to see if two rooms were available.

"I'll take DiNozzo back to my place." Gibbs snapped, hearing the unspoken request in DiNozzo's voice as loud as everyone else in the room.

"Whoa, Fast moves there, Bossman," Abby whispered, not quite softly enough.

"Abbs, not now" Abby looked anything but contrite, whilst DiNozzo blushed, finally realising what the exchange had looked like.

"Hey, Jim, he growls almost as well as you." Blair snickered as he started dialling the aforementioned Carlo. "Hey, Carlo, you're on concierge duty tonight, cool. Think the Westin can scrounge up a room for Jim and I?"

"The Westin?" Tony looked like he really wished he could finagle an invite.

"Thank, Carlo, I owe you." Blair smiled as he hung up his cell. "He's got one of the special suites free, Jim," Blair commented as he ignored Tony's whimper. "Pure cotton sheets, merino wool blankets, no fragrances, and a Jacuzzi."

"I could always drop Jim and Blair off," Ducky offered thinking that this might be an opportune moment to have a private word with both men." I've got to go past the Westin anyway," Ducky said blandly, continuing with the lie.

"Jim?" Blair, happy enough to leave the decision up to his partner, missed the look of incredulity that quickly flashed across Gibbs' face.

Jim, happy to have a reasonable pretext for getting Blair and Dr. Mallard somewhere private quickly agreed to the scheme while he, too, ignored the old-fashioned look that Gibbs was directing at NCIS's Medical Examiner.

"I'll let the gatehouse know you're picking up your bags on the way out, then." Gibbs wasn't happy that no-one was explaining what was going on in the background but he was already planning on grilling Ducky first thing in the morning. It would be best to get his Cascadian guests on their way; so, with a few curt words Gibbs _instructed_ the gatehouse to be ready to hand over the bags to Doctor Mallard and his guests as they left the yard.

"Back here at 0630 hundred," Gibbs snapped as he stood up. "DiNozzo, with me," Gibbs was heading out before anyone had a chance to comment, forcing Tony to run to catch up with him.

"Looks like we're with you, Ducky," Blair commented as he did a final sweep of the conference room; checking the searches still running and grabbing up a couple of reams of notes.

"We'll see you in the morning, Abigail," Ducky said as he went to lead Jim and Blair out towards the elevator. When Abby didn't answer, Ducky looked to see the forensic scientist still staring out the door after Tony DiNozzo, "Abby?"

"Did Bossman just invite Detective DiNozzo back to his place?"

"Yes, he did, didn't he?" Ducky smiled.

"Awesome." Abby started dancing around the conference room.

"Go home Abby. You can grill Gibbs in the morning, if you are feeling brave enough."

"Okay, Duckman. See you all in the morning." Abby continued to bounce out of the conference room.

"Is she always like that?" Jim asked.

"Sometimes she's worse," Ducky answered with a smile.

"Chief," this was addressed to Blair, "I'm getting too old to keep up with energizer bunnies."

"Don't worry, Jim. A good night will see you right as rain." Blair smiled lecherously telegraphing just what he meant by a good night.

"Wow," Blair's face lit up – almost enough to light the night sky – as he got his first look at Doctor Mallard's vehicle; a Morgan plus 4 roadster in immaculate condition.

* * *

Jim, climbing into the front passenger seat, had to agree. "Nice vehicle you've got here, doc."

"At my age one should, occasionally, allow oneself a little vicarious pleasure," Ducky was more than pleased at the reaction to his pride and joy, even more so given the source. "I used to love driving the roads around Monte Carlo and the Swiss Alps in my youth. Even England has more than a few good driving roads."

"And let me guess, you'd happily hit the roads again?" Blair was smiling as he imagined letting the roadster hit its straps.

"All I need is a couple of travelling companions," Ducky was also caught up in imagining letting his Morgan have her head; maybe with Jim and Blair riding along. "Still, it's getting late gentlemen, how about we get you both settled?"

"Let's," Blair agreed with a yawn. "I used to be able to work 30 hours straight," he groused.

"That was last week," Jim teased.

Easing the Morgan out of its parking spot Ducky had to admit, even if only to himself, that the two men riding with him were a pleasure to observe. A quick stop at the Yard's gate had three cases loaded in to the trunk; nothing exploded but Blair supervised the loading of the smallest case as though one wrong move and all hell would break loose.

"So, what's in that case, young man?" Ducky asked as he drove out onto Marine Ave heading for 12th Street.

"Just a few tools of the trade," Blair evaded while he concentrated on Jim's shoulders; shoulders that were obviously tensing up. "You all right there, Jim?" The question was asked in a mild voice which fooled no-one.

Ducky cast a quick glance to his right and noticed that his front seat passenger did look a little uncomfortable. "I think I'd better have another look at you, Detective Ellison," Ducky commented, thinking that the apparent distress of the older detective was a convenient reason to accompany both men into the hotel.

Jim, normally the first to shrug off any suggestion that he might need medical assistance, agreed with doctor Mallard so readily that Blair nearly fainted in the back seat.

Skilfully navigating the one-way street system around the Westin Grand, Ducky pulled into the parking area in front of the hotel. Before he'd even had a chance to cut the engine, 2 elegantly dressed bell-hops approached, trolley car, large enough to hold the entire Loui Vuitton range, in tow.

Blair, climbing out after Jim, started to giggle as he took in the sight at the trunk of Ducky's Morgan. "If I packed everything I'd owned when I lived under the stairs at the loft, I still wouldn't have been able to fill that thing," the stage whisper carried to the Concierge who was following along behind the Bell-hops.

"Somehow that does not suprise me, Dr Sandburg, I suspect you'd always have trouble filling one of my trolleys," Carlo grinned as he stepped forward to shake Blair's hand.

"Carlo," Blair glared at one of his Mother's oldest friends.

"I'm on duty," Carlo would not now, nor ever, embarrass the hotel by being anything less than completely professional even when dealing with someone whose nappies he'd once changed.

"Fine," Blair acquiesced to the unspoken request. "Carlo, thanks for letting us use the _clean_ suite."

"Don't thank me, Dr Sandburg. The FBI rang and requested we hold a room for you," Carlo smiled at Blair's slightly pole-axed look. "Dr Gideon presumed you'd call here first when looking for accommodation."

"Getting predictable in your old age, Chief?" Jim happily joined the conversation, his headache momentarily forgotten. "What next, grey hairs?"

"At least I've still got my hair," Blair shot back giving as good as he got. "Where are my manners anyway?" Blair sighed.

"You've got them?" Jim sallied back but quickly shut up when Blair directed a look that promised retribution.

"Carlo, you remember my partner, Detective Jim Ellison?"

"Detective Ellison, it is good to meet you again," Carlo acknowledged Jim before he turned to face Doctor Mallard. "Ducky?" Carlo blinked twice as he looked the NCIS Medical Examiner up and down. "Duck? So you finally tracked the scamp down? Good on you," Carlo then ignored all protocol and pulled Doctor Mallard into a bone crushing hug.

Blair, who'd been about to introduce the NCIS ME, was well and truly caught by surprise; after all, Carlo, who'd changed Blair's nappies more than once still steadfastly refused to use the familiar forms of address when in _professional mode_ was suddenly all over Doctor Mallard like white on rice.

"Carlo? Carlo Romena?" Ducky returned the hug ten-fold. "My god, I haven't seen you since that episode with the Contessa, what is it?"

"Twenty-five years," Carlo answered before Ducky had even finished the question, which proved to be an ill advised move as it gave Ducky time to reflect on just what Carlo had said in greeting.

"You knew?" The look Ducky sent Carlo's way would have done Gibbs proud.

"Perhaps we could take this somewhere a little more private?" Jim interjected having picked up on the underlying topic.

Carlo, no fool, suddenly regretted his outburst. "Come, I will show you to your room, personally."

"Jim?" Blair looked up at his partner with wide eyed worry. "What's going on?"

"Nothing bad, babe," Jim tried to reassure Blair but, judging by the staccato beat of Blair's heart that he could hear, failing miserably.

"But _something_ is going on, isn't it?" Blair pressed.

"Wait till we're in our room, okay?" Jim was actively avoiding looking into Blair's eyes.

Seeing the set of Jim's shoulders and taking into account the fact that Jim had indicated he would be _explaining_, Blair turned to Carlo, "Lead the way, Carol. Umm, Carlo..." Jim stifled a nervous laugh.

Carlo signalled the bell-hop to follow with the luggage, such that it was, before he walked into the lobby of his pride and joy. Carlo had been approached all of DC's top hotels, offers of up to three times his current salary being tabled as inducements, but he loved the Westin and could not be bought for mere money. Walking into the lobby, with its white marble floor, plush woollen carpets, dark oak desks and furnishings suited to Millionaire's row, anyone of taste would be impressed. The high ceiling and lighting added to the impression of a truly comfortable and spacious place.

"Genelle," Carlo approached the front reception desk, "I'll need the keys to 615, and, would you check if room 617 is free?"

"We only need the one suite, Carlo," Blair comments as he came up behind the man.

"I rather thought Donald might prefer a room for the night, as well," Carlo offered with a nod to Ducky.

"That would be wonderful, Carlo, but I must get home to Mother and the corgis," Ducky protested, as much for form's sake as anything else. The night nurse he employed to assist in the care of his aging mother should be able to handle things for the night; even the corgis.

Jim, having failed to pick up on the fact that Ducky was vacillating about the offer, pulled out the big guns. "Doc, might be useful if you spent the night close by," Ellison grimaced in pain as he shrugged his shoulders, "Gibbs still packs a mean punch."

"Jim," Blair looked _closely_ at his partner; the _what are you up too_ clearly heard, though no words were spoken.

Ducky caved under Jim's request. If nothing else, a spare suite to retire to might be advantageous if there was any metaphorical blood spilt tonight. "Carlo, that would be acceptable. Could you organise..."

"Parking? But, of course." An insistent flurry of hand signals produced a valet to take Ducky's keys whilst reception handed over another room pass. "This way, gentlemen," Carlo led the eclectic group towards the elevator.

"Hey, Carlo, I'll take the stairs, if you don't mind?" Blair didn't even wait for a reply but was fast moving towards the stairs when Jim caught up with him.

Ducky turned to look at Carlo, a raised eyebrow indicating he wanted to know if Carlo knew what _that was all about_.

"Blair got caught in an elevator once," Carlo started explaining. "Seemed someone was trying to rip a lot of cash out of a vault in the building."

"And?" the explanation was, after all as clear as mud.

"And, the criminal was threatening to drop the elevator 40 odd floors. To prove it, the criminal, calling himself Galileo, dropped the elevator car 10 floors, at least twice. Blair has been a little wary of them ever since. He'll use one, but only if he's exhausted. Worried the building manager here no end; high-powered guest refusing to use the lift."

"So, that's how you know the tale?" Ducky was initially put out, quite a bit, in fact, that Carlo seemed to know more about his son than he did.

"I was there when he explained it, which is the only reason I know the story," Carlo was a student of human nature, after all, and had picked up on Ducky's _annoyance_.

"I take it he doesn't know?" Carlo asked as both men stepped into the lift.

No need to ask who _he_ was. "I didn't even know until this afternoon," Ducky was not a particularly happy man. "Then to find out that _you_ seem to have known for a very long time?" Ducky gave his long-time friend a meaningful;look.

"I was asked not to tell you, back then," Carlo, at least, had the grace to look mildly ashamed. "I gave my word." He gave Ducky a fierce, reassuring hug.

"And our word always was your bond," Ducky sighed, accepting the inevitable.

"Losing track of you all those years ago didn't help, Donald."

"Well, how about you fill me in on what little else you might now?" Ducky invited, _pointedly_.

Ding.

"Saved by the bell, Carlo," Ducky was more amused than anything that the lift door opened onto the 6th floor before Carlo could share any other secrets. "We'll talk later, maybe?"

"Later," The two men walked towards the stair well and listened while gentle bickering back and forth could be heard echoing up the stairwell. "Jim does love Blair, I hope you realise, Duck," Carlo commented into a moment of silence.

"I'm not a complete idiot, Carlo."

"Of course not," was all Carlo had time to say as the men that he and Ducky were discussing appeared on the landing below, "The lift is faster, you know," Carlo teased Blair.

"But I can't fall as far," Blair sassed back.

"You can still break your neck, Chief."

"Not with my buff toy-boy there to catch me," Blair let loose with a blinding smile as he raced passed Ellison, reaching the 6th floor ahead of his friend. "Now who's got what room, Carlo?"

* * *

"Well," Blair was sitting comfortably on a plush love seat, apparently totally relaxed though looks could be deceiving, "is anyone going to talk about the elephant in the room? Or am I just going to have to use my imagination?"

"It's about today's zones," Jim, knowing of old the sheer power of Blair's imagination grabbed the metaphorical bull elephant by the tusks, "I think I know what caused at least two of them and it's not quite what you were thinking."

"Only two?" Blair cocked his head to the side as he considered the zones of the day: zone one, cause probably related to something at the crime scene; zone two was probably a result of slipping back out of _Shaman space_, for want of a better phrase; zone three happened while Jim was assisting forensics, so did zone four for that matter. "So, it's not your control slipping?" To top everything off, Blair wasn't exactly happy that Jim was speaking out of turn, as it were; a quick flick of his eyes to Carlo and an interrogative eyebrow was all Blair _said_ on the matter, though.

Carlo, noticing the eye movement, had the grace to blush. "I could leave if you prefer, gentlemen? Though I don't think Jim's sensitivities are the issue right at the moment."

A shoulder shrug and hands out, palms up, in a classical asking manner, was Blair's reply. Blair had no idea what was going on, but was really starting to worry. Carlo as a friendly face might be just what the doctor, pun intended, needed.

"Carlo knows part of it," Ducky said with more than a little bite.

"Jim? I'm tired man and you are all starting to freak me out a little here."

"Ducky smells like you."

"What?" Normally Blair was five to ten steps ahead of the conversation, normally, but Jim's non sequitur total threw him.

"Ducky _smells_ like you." Jim didn't growl but it was a close thing.

"How close?"

"Naomi close," Jim answered obliquely; not that it mattered, Blair understood the message. When Blair didn't say anything, anything at all, Jim stepped forwards but was warded off by his partner; his very silent partner.

Seconds ticked by as Blair sat, processing.

When the seconds turned into minutes, however, Jim took steps. "Blair, Ducky smells guide close."

It was the word Guide that pulled Blair out of his funk. "You knew?" Blair turned and levelled his own version of the _mess with me and you're toast_ stare at Carlo. "How long have you known, Carlo? How long?"

"I gave Naomi my word, Blair. I gave her my word at a time when my word was the only thing I had." Carlo ignored the other men in the room and approached Blair, kneeling on the carpet and placing his hands, in supplication, on Blair's knee.

"So, you've always known?"

"Yes, Blair, I've always known." Carlo had to smile as he watched the anger and frustrations bleed out of Blair's countenance. "But I didn't know that Ducky was living in Washington; that I swear."

"Let me guess, if you had known you'd have found a way to get Doctor Mallard and I to cross paths before now?"

"I'm sure your friend," and at this comment Carlo nodded his head toward Jim, "would have smelled the relationship. Detective Ellison does, after all, have a very good nose."

"Doctor Mallard," Blair looked up suddenly, "did you know?"

"Not until today, my dear boy," Ducky blushed a bright scarlet as the colloquial reply dropped off his lips. "My dear boy?" A note of apprehension colored Ducky's question even as the elder man opened his arms in welcome.

Jim watched, a grin a mile wide on his face, as Blair, who had just been complaining about being tired, shot out of the loveseat and into Ducky's embrace; almost bowling the man over.

"Jim, I've got a dad." The Sandburg special 1000 watt (patent-pending) smile did a good job of lighting up the room. If the curtains hadn't been drawn the smile would have lit up most of Washington.

"So it seems, Chief." Fond indulgence and the sinking feeling that sleep wasn't going to happen tonight warred in Jim's breast; indulgence won, hands down.

"I think this is my cue to leave," Carlo whispered to Jim as he, also, looked on at the old pair with fond indulgence. "Tell Blair I will speak with him in the morning, please."

"I will," Jim took the two sets of key-cards Carlo handed him, "I take it the other keys are for Doctor Mallard?"

"Yes, for the suite next door if he needs it."

"I'm not so sure he will," Jim allowed.

"Hey, what are you two whispering about?" Blair asked as Carlo headed for the door, "and where are you going, Carlo?"

"Back to my desk, Blair, and I was just giving Jim the keys. Some of us have do to work, after all."

"Yes, Blair, and some of us have to work in the morning," Ducky commented. "I'm not as young as I used to be. But, as Carlo has so kindly supplied me with a room to bed down in, how about we all meet for breakfast?" Ducky invited as he watched Blair's face fall at the idea he might be leaving. "I'll be next door, after all."

Blair tightened the embrace before he nodded, once, and stepped away.

"However, I'll have a last look at you, Detective." Ducky was already heading towards Jim with purposeful stride very similar to Blair's.

"Two of them," Jim grumbled. "Now I've got two of them."

"Yes, Detective, I believe you have. Now sit."

Jim sat.

Blair didn't even try to hide his amusement though the last laugh was on Jim as Blair actually collapsed to the floor because he was laughing so hard.

"Laugh it up, wonder-boy, you'll get yours in the end."

"Oooooh, promises." Blair grinned evilly, "and it's not me who's going to be getting it in the end."

"Gentlemen, please, a little decorum." Ducky scolded both men but he was smiling so much that the scold had no impact. "You, Detective seem fit enough for most activities though I'd advise against running..."

"He won't be running anywhere." Blair interrupted.

"I was going to say running after any criminals, Blair," Ducky rolled his eyes. "On that note I think I shall seek my bed and I suggest that you gentlemen do the same.

"Hey, doctor's orders," Blair picked himself up off the carpet and literally danced towards the bedroom. "I've never had doctor's orders to take Jim to bed."

"Are you trying to get me killed, here, Ducky?"

"Would it be such a bad way to go?" Ducky whispered as he left suite knowing that Jim would hear him. Today, well yesterday, had been a very good day.

* * *

Jim walked into the master suite in time to see Blair digging out a few, very select, items from his special go bag. Just the thought of what Blair was probably planning had him hardening. "Chief," Jim's voice was already husky with desire, "what are you up to?"

"Oooh, about six inches," Blair quipped back as he turned and slide a disc into the CD player that formed part of the entertainment unit of the bedroom. Peruvian drums and jungle sounds, deep and low, vibrated throughout the room. "Relax, Jim, let me care for you." Blair's voice had lost the teasing quality it held a moment ago; now it was deep throated, coming as it was, from the base of Blair's lungs.

"Blair," Jim let loose the focused control he normally held over his senses, trusting that Blair would let him fly but catch him long before he fell.

Banked lust assaulted Jim's nasal passages as the pheromones poured from Blair's pores; ginger scented with a hint of green tea, earthy, pungent and laced with pure sex.

Jim's ears were treated to drums, both those held by shaman hands deep in the forests of Peru and the deep, regular beat of Blair's heat in counter point. The gentle pulse of ebb and flow as blood pumped throughout his guide's body sounding a sweet thrum.

Sight was being treated to soft hues of umber, of flickering shadow, of bright coronas as Blair lit beeswax candles, before turning the incandescent lights off. Sound was given an extra treat as Blair slid cloth from shoulder, hip and thigh. Naked, his penis jutted forward like a standard, Blair walked toward Jim. "Come, my love, follow me."

Jim happily took the outstretched hand and allowed Blair to lead him, as they walked side by side, closer to the bed. Blair finally turned Jim so that he was standing with his thighs backed up against the high side of the king sized bed. Without uttering a word, Blair began to strip Jim of his clothes before he encouraged the man to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I know you, Jim." Blair kissed the very crown of Jim's head, once, twice, five times; each kiss, a whisper of power as Blair acknowledged all Jim was to him, "Sentinel." Kiss. "Man." Kiss. "Shield." Kiss. "Lover." Kiss. "Foundation." Kiss.

"You know me," Jim whispered as his senses felt Blair mark him.

"I see you, Jim." Blair lowered his mouth to kiss and caress each of Jim's eyelids before moving his focus to the bridge between the eyes. Here, Blair began to suckle gently, marking Jim.

"You see me," Jim drowsily replied as he began to sink into the loving grounding ceremony that Blair was acting out upon his willing flesh.

"I taste you, Jim." The words the shortest warning before Blair moved to plunder Jim's mouth.

Jim, sinking in the bliss that was his partner, opened up like a petal in bloom to Blair's tongue; the kiss was anything but chaste. With slow, deliberate thrusts, Blair made love to Jim's mouth; his tongue gliding across the top palette; dancing around Jim's tongue, engaging in a battle for dominance before switching to submission. As their mouths moved together, each man trying to climb into the others body, their hands in synchronicity rose to grasp the others head trying to pull faces closer. Only when a lack of air became dangerous did they part, panting.

"You taste me," Jim sighed contently.

Blair eased back a little to enjoy the view of a thoroughly kissed Jim. "I'm going to do more than taste you," Blair smiled.

Jim's only coherent thought at that was if he could bottle that tone of voice he'd never have to work again. Add the fact that Blair, his hair also thoroughly mussed, still looked like an angel imagined by Botticelli, and weaker men would fall. The sight of Blair nibbling his way down the long line of Jim's neck would tempt even the Lord God to sin. Hands ghosting over Jim's back acting as a counter point to the nips, some gently, some not, as Blair kissed his was towards Jim's right nipple.

Like his penis, Jim's nipples were taut and erect, begging for attention. Blair, ever one to please, obliged. Blair's tongue danced circles around the aureole before his teeth settled in to worry at the nipple. Sucking deep, his cheeks hollowing as he did so, Blair drew as much of Jim's breast into his mouth as he could. Letting the suction fall away, Blair bit Jim's nipple, drawing a small amount of blood, which he drank down, before moving to Jim's left nipple for a repeat performance.

As Jim arched into the pain and pleasure, Blair used his own weight to force Jim backward until Jim was lying down, his knees bent over the bed's edge. "You are my strength," Blair undulated up Jim's body to claim another deep kiss.

"Strength," Jim only just managed to ground the word out as he drowned in the sensation of Blair's chest hairs as they passed over his bare chest.

Pressing forward, Blair allowed his whole body to drape over Jim's momentarily. The feel of skin on skin; hardness against hardness was intoxicating.

Jim' the stronger of the two, tried to push up into Blair's weight, to feel Blair's erect cock against his.

"Not yet," Blair lifted himself away from Jim, "not yet."

When Jim moaned in need Blair smiled wickedly.

"Please," Jim tried begging even though he knew it would not work.

Rather than answer, Blair bent forward and began to tongue fuck Jim's belly button. "Soon, I'll be doing this to you, Jim. Do you want me, too?"

"Please," Jim arched his back opening up his abdominal line making it easier for Blair to bury his tongue into that point that joined humanity all the way back to the dawn of time. "Please, fuck me, babe."

"Not yet," Blair left torturing Jim's middle and began to kiss down the line of fine hair between navel and public crest. "You smell so hot," a soft breath caressed Jim's cock as Blair positioned his head so that it was cradled in the V between pubic mound and erect cock. Gently shaking his head, whilst he sucked at the junction below his mouth, allowed Blair to tease Jim on two fronts; suction at the base of his cock and the feel of cheek, and hair, against the erect member.

After what felt like hours, but in truth had been but moments, Blair eased away and clamped his hand firmly around the base of Jim's cock. "No coming yet," Blair warned.

Stepping back, Blair looked down at his handy work and smiled. Jim was laid out before him like a rich feast, finally ready to be enjoyed to the fullest. Knowing that once he began again he would not stop until both men had reached their climax, Blair quickly placed an ultra thin condom over his own hard shaft. The condoms were special order, thin, open at both ends, made to protect fragile tissues from damage rather than prevent contraception. "Ready?" Blair asked.

"More than ready," Jim sighed and allowed his thighs to spread wider granting easy access to his puckered anus. "Fill me, please fill me."

Accepting the invitation, Blair knelt down and began to lick at Jim's opening. Each lick slightly firmer than the one preceding it until Blair's tongue began to breach the outer ring of muscle. Jim reached down and grabbed Blair's head trying to pull him closer. As Blair's tongue continued to work its magic Blair slipped one, then two, then three fingers into Jim's anus, thrusting, scissoring, and loosening up the passage.

Easing his mouth away, Blair allowed Jim another short respite. Said respite was short lived however as Blair swallowed Jim's penis; deep throating him like there was no tomorrow.

Jim groaned as the head of his penis hit the back of Blair's throat. Jim screamed as Blair's cheeks hollowed out applying suction worthy of a 1000 Horse power hoover. Jim almost blacked out as he came; shooting his essence deep into Blair's throat. Blair didn't miss a beat, swallowing all that Jim offered. Only when the last spasm had faded did Blair let Jim's penis slip from his mouth though his fingers remained buried deep in Jim's back passage.

"Mine," Blair smirked as he looked at Jim, boneless, slumped onto the bed.

"Yours," Jim answered, "now finish it."

That was all the invitation Blair needed. Pulling his fingers free of Jim's body Blair lifted, and parted, Jim's legs allowing him to step close into the bed. With Jim's legs draped over his shoulders Blair thrust forward, his cock plunging deep into Jim, and nailing Jim's prostate.

Standing still, Blair watched as Jim adjusted to the greater girth that invaded his body. The instant Jim relaxed around the invasion, Blair began pound into his partner; the thrusts in time with the jungle drums that still played in the background.

Deeper.

Harder.

Faster.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuck," Jim kept crying as Blair hit his prostate again and again and again.

"Jim, Jim, Jim, Jiiimmmmmmmmmmm," Blair screamed as the orgasms tore through him.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," Jim was a counter plea.

Sweaty, panting, slaked, the two men collapsed into blissful sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"You can just drop me off at the closest motel, Gibbs," Tony commented as he followed Gibbs into the elevator.

Gibbs just pushed the button for the ground floor.

"I mean, surely, you don't need me underfoot?" Tony tried again, shifting from one foot to the other.

Gibbs didn't say anything though he privately enjoyed Tony's less than subtle attempts to draw attention to himself.

"I can see you're all high and tight, and well," a pause for breath, "and I'm kind of a slob. There's a Motel 6 just around the corner. You can drop me off there."

Gibbs stalked through the open elevator door; the unspoken 'follow me now' was heard by all present.

Tony, in a fit of contrariness, didn't follow.

"You coming, DiNozzo," Gibbs barked back over his shoulder when it became apparent that Tony hadn't followed.

"Hey—" Whatever else Tony was going to say was preemptively cut off.

"Now! DiNozzo."

"I can grab a cab if you like."

"DiNozzo." This time Gibbs didn't even bother to hide his bark.

"Coming, Boss." Tony sighed quietly as he seemingly gave up trying to get his own way up as a bad joke.

"Good. Now get in the car."

* * *

Tony thought he was prepared for Gibbs' driving; after all he'd survived the trip from Baltimore to DC proper; _thought_ being the operative word. The drive to Gibbs' place took place in a blur of lights, corners, and near misses. One **very** close encounter had Tony quipping facetiously, "Like to live dangerously, do you, Gibbs?"

Taking the next corner on two wheels was Gibbs' only answer.

After that Tony managed to keep his mouth shut for about ten minutes before the silence got to him and he finally broke. "So, how well do you _know_ Ellison?"

Gibbs flicked his eyes to the right but didn't say anything.

"I mean, come on, you didn't look real happy to see him this morning," Tony commented trying to draw NCIS agent out.

"Wasn't happy with a double homicide, DiNozzo. That really topped off the morning for me."

"Really? And here I thought it was Ellison's presence that that _topped_ the morning for you."

"Fine."

"Fine, what? Fine, I picked it right, or, fine, you weren't happy to see Ellison?"

"Both," Gibbs admitted, apparently grudgingly.

"So, now that we're far away from prying ears, why? Is working with Ellison going to be a problem? Because I think we're going to need Sandburg on this one."

"You do, do you?" With that non answer Tony was beginning to feel like getting anything out of Gibbs was synonymous with pulling teeth.

"Yes, I do, and you are avoiding the question, Agent Gibbs." Tony finally pushed a little, "So what's the history between you two? Fight over the same girl, did you?" Tony could easily imagine the two men coming to blows; hell, they'd already danced today, or was that yesterday. "Did Ellison win? Is that what's got your—

"DiNozzo!"

"Shutting up now, Boss." Tony flashed a too-bright grin Gibbs' way; the shutting up actually managed to last ten minutes, just, but Tony hadn't quite finished feeling Gibbs out, metaphorically speaking.

"Or is it the fact that he's bent that's got you bent all out of shape?" A dangerous question but as Tony was also a little – read a lot – less straight than his surface skirt-chasing persona might suggest, he really needed an answer. He'd admitted as much to Gibbs and company that he was flexible but was Gibbs? So far, Gibbs hadn't, by voice or deed, indicated he was _phobic_ but that might have been Sandburg's presence and Tony had the feeling he'd be working closely with Gibbs for the next few days at least. Thus, with the cat out of the bag Tony reasoned it was a good thing to make sure the elephant in the room wasn't.

"Why would it, DiNozzo?" Gibbs wasn't giving anything away. "Unless you're planning on making a pass at him, and then I'd suggest that you _don't_ cause that would really screw up the case."

Now that wasn't the reaction Tony had expected. "Why would my making a pass at Ellison screw up that case?"

"Because I know Ellison doesn't share and I'm very certain Sandburg won't either." Gibbs commented glibly. "Any other reason you can think of?"

"Because you're a Marine. . ." Tony stated with a degree of uncertainty; the crack about _knowing Ellison doesn't share_ had thrown him for a loop.

"And that automatically makes me homophobic?" Gibbs asked sharply before mellowing his tone. "So, you _have_ had problems in the past?"

"Yes."

"Won't have them now." Gibbs pulled into the driveway of a modest house.

* * *

"Who doesn't lock their front door in DC?" Tony asked, astounded as he followed Gibbs inside. "I mean, apart from you?"

The look of surprise on Gibbs' face indicated to Tony that his host really had no idea what his problem was, "How often have you been robbed?"

"Never."

"What, you don't lock your front door and you've _never_ been robbed?" Tony was willing to bet he looked, and sounded, a bit like a fool for asking, more or less, twice. "Come off it, Gibbs, no-one, not even in dinky small towns, leaves their doors unlocked these days.

"Why not?"

"Because that's just asking to be robbed." Tony honestly couldn't believe that anyone, let alone someone in law-enforcement, would leave their house unlocked in DC. "Don't tell me you've got this whole 'he's a Marine thing, going on'?"

"Never really thought about it." Gibbs kept walking, leading Tony into a sparsely decorated living room. "Bourbon, beer or bed?"

* * *

Bed had won out over Gibbs' other options; yesterday had been a long day for Tony already and today looked like being a repeat. Still, after not enough sleep, Tony stumbled into Gibbs' kitchen in the hope of finding something chock full of carbohydrates but with little or no nutritional value: Captain Crunch, Cocoa Puffs, Frosted Flakes, he'd even take Apple Jacks if that was all he could find.

Gibbs, standing by the coffee-maker, just watched in silence as a sleep-tousled DiNozzo hunted through his cupboards.

"Have you got anything to eat in this place?" Tony finally groused after five minutes of fruitless searching.

"Nope." Gibbs started pouring himself a coffee. "Didn't get a chance to grocery shop this weekend."

"Sorry about that, you could always let me have my case back." Tony fired a return salvo.

"Not gonna to happen, DiNozzo." Gibbs happily ignored the dig. "Want one?" Gibbs lifted his own cup of coffee to indicate what he was offering, "We'll grab a bite to eat at a bakery on the way into the yard."

"You got creamer and sugar?" Tony asked as he accepted the mug offered; the contents of which were blacker than night.

"Sugar's in the cupboard behind you. Creamer…" Gibbs actually had to think about that." There's some milk in the fridge that should still be good."

Without even bothering to taste test the coffee before he started doctoring it, Tony proceeded to add three heaped spoons of sugar, and what looked like half a carton of milk. "Holy shit," Tony almost choked as the coffee–Gibbs strength–hit his palate. "Do you use this to strip paint or something?"

Gibbs looked at his own mug of coffee; black, unadulterated, coffee. "Nope." Gibbs headed back to the lounge room to collect his day bag. "Come on, DiNozzo, day's a wasting."

Grumbling general epitaphs about control-freak Marines and paint stripping coffee, Tony followed Gibbs to the living room and then out to the car.

"You say something?" Gibbs smirked as Tony buckled in and grabbed the _oh shit_ strap.

* * *

"Duck." Jim led a bleary eyed Blair into the Westin's dining room and towards the table where Doctor Mallard was waiting.

"A rough night, gentlemen?" Ducky bit back a grin as he watched Blair turn towards the barista station. "I take it coffee is required before any semblance of conversation is possible?"

"Used to be health food shakes," Jim grimaced in memory of some of the concoctions Blair had tried to get him to drink in the past, "but—"

"Less talk, more coffee," Blair grumbled as he pushed Jim away, and not so accidentally, towards where the nectar of gods, cops and students alike was being brewed.

Frowning, Ducky leaned across the table and patted Blair's hand. "So how are you feeling this morning, my dear boy?" Ducky blushed the moment the unconscious endearment crossed his lip.

"Vertical." Blair shook his head as though to clear the cobwebs. Blinking a little owlishly, Blair finally focused on Doctor Mallard and instantly picked up on the slight blush that colored the older man's cheeks. "So, Doctor Mallard, how do you feel about the fact that I am your dear boy?"

"Ducky, my dear boy, Ducky." Doctor Mallard reached across the table and patted Blair's left hand reassuringly. Seeing some of the tension leave Blair's shoulders, Ducky ventured, "Though, if you want, you could try calling me Dad."

The smile, shy and sweet, that blossomed on Blair's face was all the answer Ducky could have hoped for. "I kind of like that idea, Dad."

"You two finished with the mutual appreciation society meeting?" Jim teased as he sat down beside Blair placing a cup of perfectly brewed coffee in front of his mate. "You do realize that you've gained a son-in-law as well?" Jim asked Ducky while monitoring the older man's vitals; so far, nothing Ducky had said or done indicated that he might be homophobic but Jim wasn't taking any chances.

Ducky, a long time student of humanity, turned a piercing gaze on Jim. "I had gathered that." The smile Ducky directed at Jim was warm and inviting; the twinkle in the ME's eye, however, was just plain salacious. "Oh, to be young, and in love."

"I don't think you're that old, Dad," Blair quipped, having caught the salacious look. "Do I have to worry about gaining a step-mother?"

"My dear boy, I hardly have time for romance these days."

"But the inclination is still there, isn't it?" Blair grinned. Donald Mallard, after all, was still a very handsome man.

Jim, after looking back and forth between the two for a moment, dropped his head unto his hands. "I'm going to be beating them off with a stick till I'm old and grey."

"Old, maybe, but never grey." Blair reached across and ruffled Jim's regulation short-back and sides with a side order of receding. "You'll be bald before you're grey."

"Watch it, shortstuff," Jim, ignoring the fact that they were seated in the dining room of the Westin, grabbed Blair and began a vicious noogie attack. "I could always make a toupee out of the hair you shed."

"Gentlemen, a little decorum, perhaps," Ducky's scold lacked heat but it did bring the two Cascade detective back to the moment. "I think I'm going to have my hands full with you, young man," Ducky tried a stern parental glare only to find it being volleyed by a smile that could have lit Manhattan.

Luckily for the staff, and the few others dining at this early an hour, a waiter approached their table with a trolley laden with eggs, scrambled, poached and fried, bacon, grilled tomato, toast, and sundry other victuals guaranteed to assuage any hunger. Thus, for the next ten minutes, at least, the only sound from their corner of the dining room was that of appreciation for well-cooked food.

After pushing an empty plate away, Ducky decided it was time to broach the subject of the investigation that had brought the men together; particularly, Ducky wanted to forewarn his companions about Gibbs and his likely behavior if this wasn't solved quickly. "Are you sure you're up to today? Gibbs can be—

"A lot like Jim, I suspect," Blair interrupted. "Some people seem born to protect others and they can get a little surly when they think they've failed."

"Ahhh." Ducky relaxed slightly. "I suppose you are right in that respect, Blair. It's just that I've seen strong men turn tale when confronted by Gibbs when he's on a mission. It wasn't all that long ago that another serial killer crossed Jethro's path and I'm certain that event led to the breakdown of his marriage."

"You're talking about Kyle Boone?" Blair rather enjoyed the slightly startled look that graced Ducky's face. "I did a little research yesterday and I found a couple of references to the case. Nasty."

"Yes, and by the time Jethro had Boone in custody I believe the only ones still talking to Gibbs at the Yard were Abby and Tom."

"Tom?"

"Director Tom Morrow—"

"Tom Morrow, tomorrow, what did the poor man do to deserve that?"

"I don't think his parents thought about it quite frankly," Ducky smiled, "but he is a very good man and more importantly Jethro trusts him. Anyway, Jethro may need a bit of gentle handling, if you understand what I mean." Ducky was actually speaking to the Shaman having picked up enough clues about Blair's other roles from observation and a little research as well.

Blair just smiled enigmatically,. "It's covered."

* * *

"Well." Gibbs was standing too close to Blair as the Cascadian grabbed the VICAP printouts; page after page after page.

"Give me a moment or three, Gibbs." Blair pushed back, figuratively and literally (not so accidentally standing on Gibbs' toes). "We've only just gotten here."

Jim didn't even bother trying to hide the smirk as Gibbs hopped on one foot; Blair might look like a lightweight but he wasn't.

"Are you sure there's enough paper in the printer?" Tony quipped from where he was leaning against the door to the conference room. "I didn't think there'd be that _many_ possible matches. That almost looks like a complete printout out of all VICAP cases."

"It's not as bad as all that," Blair responded though the sheer weight of printouts being generated was rather daunting. "I had four searches running last night and these are the printouts from all of them."

"Still that's a lot of trees there, Chief," Jim teased.

Blair would have flipped Jim the bird except for the fact that he didn't have a spare hand, or three, and he wasn't yet quite sure how Gibbs would react to that level of informality. "Gibbs," Blair turned to face the NCIS lead agent, "what time does Abby normally get to work?"

"Early." Gibbs blinked at the unexpected question. "Why?"

"Because I'm thinking it might be worth our while revisiting yesterday's crime scene without all the extraneous people."

"To what end?" Tony butted in before he turned around—metaphorically—and answered his own question. "Canvassing the neighbors."

"Among other things," Blair replied as he started scanning the printouts. "We've also got to find how our perpetrator arrived at the crime scene and I'd like to go with Jim and see if we can track him further than we did yesterday."

"Doesn't explain why you want Abby." Gibbs wanted a good reason for taking Abby out in the field.

"If you and Tony are canvassing the neighbors then Jim and I will need someone with direct jurisdiction with us; we're just advisors, after all."

"Yeah, right," Tony smiled as he rolled his eyes at Blair's blatant self-deprecation, "and I'm just a pretty face."

"But you are a pretty face," Blair sassed back. "Still, as we're looking for evidence that is more of a forensic nature taking Abby along makes more sense. If nothing else it makes the chain of custody one step shorter." Blair didn't add that this arrangement forced Gibbs to spend more time with Tony but the look Jim flashed at his partner said at least one person in the room had picked up on that idea.

"I'm driving." Tony , not quite recognizing the setup, tried to save his stomach from another _Gibbsing_; breakfast had, so far, stayed down, but Tony wasn't about to lay odds that he'd keep it down if he had to survive anymore of Gibbs' driving today.

"My cars, I drive." Gibbs left the room, intent on gaining Director Morrow's permission to steal the agency's forensic scientist for the day.

"You could always catch the bus," Blair teased as he observed the crestfallen look on Tony's face.

"What about I come with you?" Tony countered. "Who am I kidding? You planned this, Sandburg, I swear you planned this." Grousing, and unaware how true his complaints were, Tony walked over to the table where Blair had been placing the VICAP printouts, "So, why so many possible?"

"I'd rather I had too many possibles than miss one because the search criteria was too tight. Unfortunately, predicting our killer is made all the more difficult because I really don't think our killer is sexually motivated." Blair couldn't help but fall back into teaching mode.

"And if he was?" Tony wasn't quite sure how the fact that whether the killings were sexually motivated impacted on their ability to predict the killer's actions.

"As horrid as it might sound the advantage is that the sexually motivated killer's need to kill is likely to get stronger as time passes. Couple that with the fact that we know we have a serial killer on our hands, and, it means not only are we likely to get a fresh scene, sooner rather than later, we'll recognize it as part of this series. Even if we couldn't stop the next murder we could use that next crime to tighten up our profile and hopefully be in a better position to predict the killer's move."

"But if the killings aren't sexually motivated?" Tony was filing away every scrap of information Blair was sharing; treating the posit and re-posit as a master class in serial profiling.

"Then we are forced to wait until exactly the right circumstance present themselves. While not all sexually motivated serial killings end up escalating in frequency, there is a greater tendency for that to happen. Our killer, however, is killing for a specific reason and is unlikely to kill unless his need is triggered again."

"So we have to work out what his trigger is?" Tony stated the obvious.

"Yes, hence the pile here." Blair pointed at the smaller set of printouts. "These are the VICAP results for the cases you identified as possibly part of the series."

"But given we're already sure they are part of the series why do we need the VICAP files?"

"Because, with luck, there is something in the data here that will help identify the trigger."

"With luck?" Tony cocked an eyebrow at that. "You don't sound very sure of that."

"I'm not, which is why that pile." Blair indicated the much larger printout. "The problem with any _offence database_ is that if the right data isn't in the database then it's about as useful as—"

"We get the picture, Chief," Jim interrupted before Blair went off on his usual tirade about reliance on technology without understanding the limitations.

"Anyway, the fact that I think part of the trigger is separated by more than two degrees from the victim means that the required data may not be part of the VICAP files at all."

"Damn." Tony spoke for everyone.

"That's why I still think we're going need to take another run at yesterday's crime scene."

"I agree." Gibbs poked his head into the conference room. "Grab your gear," Gibbs was already walking away as he yelled the command back at Tony, Jim, and Blair.

"Better do what the man says," Blair quipped as he picked up his backpack and snagged the VICAP printout.

* * *

"Shotgun." Abby was almost bouncing out of her skin as Gibbs, Tony, Jim, and Blair exited the elevator and walked over to where she was waiting beside one of the agency cars. "Thanks for letting me come on the field trip, Gibbs." Abby kissed Gibbs on the cheek.

"Don't thank me, thank Tom," Gibbs commented, "He's the one who okayed our stealing you for the day, Abs. You're going to ride with Ellison and Sandburg, DiNozzo's with me."

"Gibbs, how am I going to keep my breakfast down?" Tony whined at the thought of being stuck in the car with Gibbs again. He'd only just gotten his insides settled and he'd have preferred them to stay that way.

"And here I thought, Jim, only your driving was feared by lesser mortals." Blair had a go at Ellison.

"Keep it up, Sandburg, and I'll show you fear of driving."

"Not gonna happen today, Jim." Blair was entirely too cheerful for the time of the morning. "You're not allowed to drive the rental, remember?"

"Can't I come with you, Gibbs?" Abby didn't quite whine into Gibbs' ear whilst the others set about getting themselves settled into the vehicles.

"No, Abs, Sandburg and Ellison need you for bag and tag duties." Gibbs turned his head and continued to whisper into Abby's ear, "Think of all the fun you can have watching Ellison play sentinel."

"Sweet." With that comment Abby bounced her way over to the car that Jim and Blair were getting into. As Jim was already in the front passenger seat Abby was forced to forego _shotgun_ but it didn't stop her asking if they wouldn't mind listening to a bit of Seether, Android Lust, or Stop Making Friends during the drive.

"Cool." Blair's answer was almost drowned out by a groan from Jim. "Hey, think of it as practice for the dial.," Blair basically ignored Jim's protests as he tuned the radio into 101 Club Doom and started to follow after Gibbs and Tony, though at a slightly more sedate pace.

* * *

Inevitably Gibbs and Tony arrived at the Lovegood Street crime scene first. Gibbs pulled the sedan, nose first, into the curb on E 22nd Street and turned to check on Tony. Waiting for his companion to regain his equilibrium was spent looking up and down the street.

Tony, who had spent most of the journey with his eyes closed and his hand firmly holding the _oh shit_ handle almost didn't register that the car had stopped moving. Warily he cracked one eye open and glanced out the window to see if the world had stopped moving at light speed. Once certain that the car was stationary, and after a giving his voice-box, and stomach, time to catch up with him given that for a while there Tony would have sworn they were still at the lights at the corner of W North Avenue and N Howard Street, Tony finally noticed Gibbs' action. "What are you looking for, Gibbs?"

"How the killer got here," Gibbs stated flatly as he finally started getting out of the car. "Come on, DiNozzo; let's see if we can find where he parked."

"Shouldn't we wait for Sandburg and company?"

"Afraid of a little exercise?" Gibbs glanced down at the very stylish shoes Tony was wearing.

"No, just waiting till the world stops spinning," Tony snapped back. "Do you always try and make your passengers hurl or am I just special?"

"Just special, DiNozzo, just special." Gibbs cracked a slight grin as he slapped Tony upside the head. "Now get a move on. Ellison can listen out for us when they get here."

"Yes, Boss." Tony reached back into the car and started rummaging around in the backpack he'd brought with him. Metaphorically feeling the heat of the glare centered on his back, Tony sought to calm the NCIS agent down. "Just getting out my scene-notes, Gibbs. I listed the license plates of the vehicles that were here yesterday. I was going to run them through the system yesterday but we kind of got distracted."

With Tony leading the way, he had the list of plates after all, the two men methodically worked their way along E 22nd Street towards St. Paul Street. At each residence they attempted to ascertain if the car, or cars, parked in the street belonged to someone in the household, if the resident had heard or seen anything unusual in the last couple of days, and if they could remember seeing anyone parking in the street that they didn't recognize. After having covered half the block, and approaching the intersection of St. Paul Street and E 21st Street they'd been able to cross off over half the cars of Tony's list; they'd also found out, surprise, surprise, that a curly-haired gentleman fitting Sandburg's description had been seen walking along St. Paul Street though none of the people questioned really noticed anyone else.

"So, they notice Sandburg but they completely _miss_ the fact that someone walked down this street yesterday carrying a honking great shotgun?" Tony shook his head in disbelief while the two men stood and rested in the shade of 2100 St. Paul Street.

"Noticed."

"You know," Tony started to wind up, "this always happens. No one ever sees or hears anything or they see everything and nothing but if the press gets a hold of a story then that's all they see."

"It's why we don't tell the press everything." Gibbs remembered more than one or two SNAFU's that could be traced back to letting the press know more than necessary. "Sandburg had better be careful." Gibbs grinned.

"Oh hell." Tony smiled in response. "Think we should warn them?"

"Nope." Gibbs continued to look smug as he led Tony off down E 21st Street back towards N Charles Street.

* * *

"They're canvassing the neighborhood," Jim commented as Blair pulled the sedan in beside the Charger Gibbs had been driving. "And it seems all the neighbors saw a youngish man with curly hair leaving the scene."

"Great," Blair groused before asking, "apart from that are they having any luck?" Blair's question was almost drowned out by Abby asking if Jim could really hear what Gibbs and Tony were up to.

"Nope and yes and I'm choosing the music on the way back," Jim answered both queries with his customary efficiency.

"Is he channeling Gibbs?" Abby asked as Blair started moaning about no more Santana.

"Not specifically. I did a study once, long time ago, about how a shared military culture affects interpersonal communication skills—"

"Not now, Sandburg," Jim interrupted before the lecture could really get started. "We've got a crime scene to examine. You do remember how, don't you?" With that Jim exited the car and headed towards the young policeman who had obviously been designated the task of guarding the scene until it was formally released.

"Is he always like that?" Abby grinned as she collected her crime-scene kit from the trunk of the car.

"Sometimes he's even worse." Blair locked the sedan and walked around to join Abby.

"I heard that," Jim growled.

"Of course you did," Blair sassed back as he picked up his crime-scene kit. A quick glance at Abby's kit had Blair smiling. "I'm glad I'm not caught up on the whole _who's got the bigger. . _."

"I'm sure that in your case, Blair, it's what you do with it that counts." Abby might have been fixated on the _fraud_ aspect of Blair Sandburg yesterday but having just spent a pleasant couple of hours trapped in a car with the man, and his eclectic music tastes, Abby was warming to Blair very fast.

"That's what Jim always says." Blair led the way over to where Jim was discussing scene access with the young officer.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the general public does not have access to this house at this point in time," Officer Setson was sticking to his guns; after the fiasco that had gone down at the PD the day before he was not going to be responsible for any further bad press.

"Now listen—"

"That's all right, Officer." Blair, stepping into the breach before Mount Ellison blew, handed over his FBI credentials. "I'm sure you saw Detective DiNozzo arrive earlier, and if you are really worried you could always call him on his cell, but Detective Ellison and I, along with Ms Sciuto, are going to go over the scene again."

The credentials, and Blair's calm manner, convinced Setson that he didn't really need to call Detective DiNozzo; he'd seen DiNozzo arrive earlier with a silver-haired gentleman and had decided in a single glance that dealing with them, unless they approached him, was above his pay-grade. So, rather than being on the receiving end of a severe dressing down, Setson stepped aside and let Jim, Blair, and Abby into the house.

"So who took out the door?" Abby noticed the bent hinges as they walked passed.

"Do you really need to ask?" Blair was setting up in the living room. "Okay, Jim, let's do a baseline first."

Abby stood off to one side of the room and settled in to watch the Sentinel in action. It was an impressive sight watching as Blair guided Jim through the use of each of his senses, extracting even the tiniest bits of information that the killer had left at the scene.

Abby was called upon to bag and tag the blotter next to the phone; apparently Ms. Kirby had been expecting a visit yesterday from a K. Pierson at 1300. The blotter had been missed because, Blair estimated, someone had removed at least five pages leaving it looking completely blank. An empty manila folder was found in the study that Jim said hadn't been handled by either Kirby or Williams. Two coffee mugs from the kitchen were also bagged and tagged.

"So, our killer was here long enough to have coffee and it appears help clean up before he actually shot Ms. Kirby," Blair theorized as they finished up in the house and headed out to the street intent on tracking where the killer had gone after Blair had lost him at Greenmount Cemetery.

"Looks that way, Chief." Jim carried the evidence bags because Blair's and Abby's hands were occupied carrying their own crime-scene kits.

"Find anything interesting?" DiNozzo asked as the group approached the cars where he and Gibbs were resting, having finished their first circuit of the block.

"I think the killer had actually called ahead and made an appointment to see Ms. Kirby." Blair started running through the evidence they'd collected inside. "So it does look like our killer is in a profession that would normally allow him into someone's home without putting them on the defensive."

"He also has to have been there long enough to have shared a coffee with Ms. Kirby,"Jim continued, "without raising any suspicions."

"Great." Gibbs was not a happy man.

"So, did you find his car?" Jim asked.

"Not so far." DiNozzo consulted the small notebook he was carrying. "Looks like everyone in who lives along E 22nd Street saw Sandburg yesterday but not one of them saw the killer. Also, if he drove here, he didn't park anywhere on the block covered by E 22nd Street, St. Paul Street, E21st Street, and Lovegood Street."

"DiNozzo and I are going to circle the larger block if you want to head back to the Yard." Gibbs wanted the new pieces of evidence logged as soon as possible.

"Actually, Gibbs, we were going to see if we could track if the killer passed where I lost him yesterday." Blair looked at Abby, almost seeming to ask if she wanted to come along or head back to the yard by herself. "We could leave your kit here and pack the evidence samples in my backpack. That way we don't break chain of custody."

"Fine," Gibbs knew when he was beat, "but you'd better keep Abs safe."

"What could possibly happen, Gibbs?" Abby wasn't really amused at the idea that she needed a keeper.

Rather than give Blair a chance to enter into a protracted discussion of just what could go wrong, and with Blair around that list tended to be longer than any man, Sentinel or keeper should have to worry about, Jim grabbed Abby's crime scene kit, stowed it quickly in the trunk and started off down E 22nd Street, leaving Blair and Abby to scramble to catch up.

"Hey, wait up a sec, Jim," Blair finally called out as Jim was approaching the corner of E 22nd Street and St. Paul. "You need to check out a shoe print we found near here yesterday."

"He's always like this. Isn't he?" Abby nodded her head towards where Jim was now waiting, obviously impatiently, for the two of them to catch up.

"Probably as much as your Gibbs is." Blair smiled thinking how alike the two men, Jim and Jethro, were. "I think Jim takes it as a personal affront when someone is killed on his watch. I bet Gibbs does, too." Thinking back on the horror that surrounded Gibbs' hunt for Kyle Boone, Abby had to agree that Blair's assessment of Gibbs was spot on.

Having caught up to Jim they proceeded as a group along the same path Blair had walked with Tony and Gibbs the day before, Jim stopped and studied, intently, each of the partial prints they passed as well as identifying a couple of prints that had been missed the day before. By the time they had reached Greenmount Cemetery Jim had a very clear image in his mind of the complete print from the killer's right shoe and enough of an image of the left shoe that tracking the killer through the cemetery proved remarkably easy.

Their killer had walked along the internal driveway before turning down the path just past the Robert Oliver Memorial. He'd then continued along that pathway, passing the notable graves of people including Arunah Abell, the founder of the Baltimore Sun newspaper and Johns Hopkins, the philanthropic Quaker. He'd then taken a left turn down a smaller path, one that passed the grave of writer J Walter Lord which almost resulted in an impromptu lecture from Blair on the writer's best known book _A Night to Remember_ which was eventually turned into the first of the movies about the Titanic in 1958 and, of course the block buster version in 1997 starring Leonardo DiCaprio.

The next hurdle to be overcome, while tracking their killer, proved to be John Wilkes Booth. It took all of Jim's considerable strength to keep Blair travelling along the path the killer had taken. "But, Jim, I'll only take a moment." Blair craned his head to the left trying to catch a glimpse of the obelisk that marked where members of the Booth family were interred.

"Not now, Sandburg." Jim rolled his eyes at Blair's antics. "When we wrap this case up we can come back and you can dead-walk to your heart's content."

"Promise." Blair pouted at Jim to reinforce the idea that he'd be seriously upset if said cemetery tour failed to occur.

"Awww, you guys are so sweet." Abby smiled as she watched both men; it was a rare pleasure to see two men so comfortably _out_.

The path they were on continued in a sweeping arc that eventually ran parallel to E Hoffman Street. It was at the point where the path began another gentle arc that the killer left the main path and began walking on the grassy areas between the graves nestled in the cemetery corner bounded by E Hoffman Street and Ensor Street. A large birch tree, just past the grave of Confederacy General John Gill, proved to be the how of how did the killer leave the cemetery: he simply climbed the tree, using it to escape over the barbed wire fencing that surrounded Greenmount.

Rather than having everyone play monkey it was decided that the prudent approach was for Jim to remain where he was, currently up the tree, while Blair and Abby exited the cemetery by more traditional means. Jim listened in, shamelessly, as Blair and Abby wandered back out and around the outside wall of the cemetery. Anchored by the sound of his lover's voice, Jim leaned forward and closely examined the barbed wires that topped the security fence.

The small stone that bounced off of Jim's head had been lobbed with care and precision; care, not so large a stone as to result in injury, precision just because Blair always hit what he was aiming for. "Find anything?"

"What makes you ask?"

"Because I've called your name twice and I had to resort to stone throwing to gain your attention, that's why?"

"Smart ass."

"Deflecting. Now what did you find?"

"Bloodstains."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

After three further hours of canvassing and Gibbs and Tony were both ready to call it quits and after questioning almost everyone who lived in the vicinity of their crime scene they were almost ready to conclude that the killer had magically transported himself to the crime scene. All the cars on DiNozzo's list were accounted for, and while Bunka was not the flavor of the month, one thing could be said for the man, he'd made a thorough list of all vehicles in the vicinity of yesterday's crime.

"We know the killer ran away but how did he get here?" Tony was frustrated and foot-sore.

"Flew?" Gibbs snapped sarcastically as he leaned against the NCIS sedan looking along the road towards St. Paul Street. "Son of a bitch." Gibbs suddenly took off up 22nd Street.

Startled, Tony reacted quickly and was hot on Gibbs' heels, "What?"

Gibbs stopped at the corner of St Paul and 22nd and stared, angrily, at the rear end of the bus. "He caught the bus. The son of a bitch caught the bus."

Tony didn't even blink, just turned and ran towards the nearest bus stop. Pen in hand, the Baltimore detective started copying down the Sunday timetable; two buses used St. Paul Street but maybe they'd get lucky.

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDG

With Tony busy writing down the St. Paul Street timetable, Gibbs walked back down E 22nd Street towards N Charles Street intent on checking if any buses ran along that street as well. As he walked, Gibbs pulled out his cell and dialed the number Blair had given him last night.

"Sandburg, have you and Ellison found my perp yet?" Gibbs not only wanted an update, he was curious to see if Ellison's Sentinel skills had garnished any more information than just good old fashioned police work.

"Not yet, though it looks like he may have used public transport to get to the scene," Blair commented.

"What make you say that?" Gibbs couldn't help himself; never give away information if you don't have to. The fact that Ellison and Sandburg were backing up his gut-feeling about the murderer's mode of transport went a long way to appeasing the man, Sentinel science and police-work agreeing was a good thing.

"We tracked the killer through Greenmount Cemetery," Blair went on, explaining what they'd found so far, "As far as we can tell the killer jumped the fence into Ensor Street. We've got bloodstains on the barbed wire and a very nice set of shoeprints from where he landed. Tracking him from there shows he walked back along Ensor Street, turned in E Hoffman Street before turning up Valley Street. He then hopped a bus on E Preston Street, heading, we think, for Penn station."

"Public transport fits. There's a couple of buses that run along St Paul Street. How long before you, Ellison, and Abs get back here?"

"Worried we might kidnap her, Gibbs?" Blair couldn't help but sass having apparently picked up the note of concern in the NCIS' agent's voice.

"Here, now?"

"It will take us at least 20—"

"Then get a move on. DiNozzo and I are heading back to the Yard to follow up on the buses." Gibbs hung up before Blair could protest. After noting down the times listed for the single bus route that ran along this part of N Charles Street Gibbs turned and walked back to where Tony was waiting, leaning against the NCIS sedan.

"So, Ellison and Sandburg find anything?" Tony asked by way of greeting even though he hadn't actually seen Gibbs call the other team.

Gibbs cocked an interrogative eyebrow at Tony's question.

"What, you're saying you didn't call for an update?" Tony's easy smile lit up his face.

"Fine." Gibbs growled a little. It seemed DiNozzo was finding it way too easy to get a read on him. "They tracked the killer through Greenmount and it looks like our killer jumped the fence at some point and eventually grabbed a bus on E Preston Street heading for Penn Station."

"Sweet, there are a couple of traffic cameras along E Preston. We might get a look at our killer yet."

"Sandburg also tells me they've found a bloodstain that might belong to the killer." Gibbs was interested to see how Tony took that news.

"Not much use if we don't have a suspect to link them to." Tony frowned as he thought through the implications that might arise from using the blood that Ellison found. "Did he say where they found the blood?"

Gibbs opened the driver's side door, climbed in and reached across to let DiNozzo in. "Said they found it on some barbed wire where the killer jumped the fence."

"Not much use at all then." Tony sighed as he settled himself into the passenger seat and buckled up as fast as possible. He wasn't quite fast enough and had to reach forward and brace against the dash-board as Gibbs peeled the sedan out without even bothering to look to see if there was any on-coming traffic. "What is it with you and driving?" Tony groused once he'd finally gotten the seat-belt done up.

Gibbs just smirked. "Why don't you think the bloodstains will be much use then? I thought cops were all over DNA these days."

"Let's see, Gibbs, bloodstains found on barbed-wire over a mile from the crime scene and only Ellison's word that the killer even jumped the fence there."

"True." Gibbs had been testing DiNozzo and the young man's answer just added to the points tally Gibbs was keeping in his head; DiNozzo would be working for him once this case was over, that was now certain.

"Anyway, while Sandburg suspects our killer to be in the Services, and, while the military have been collecting DNA samples for identification purposes, any half decent defense lawyer would say a prosecution based on a DNA result from a database that was collected for the purpose of identifying servicemen and women killed in war was fruit from the poisoned vine," Tony explained.

Given the look on Tony's face, mainly frustration, Gibbs concluded that the other had lost, or nearly lost, a conviction based on _tainted_ DNA.

"You could get Abby to run it and check the profile against known offenders and unsolved crimes and we might get lucky but if our killer's clean then having a DNA profile isn't going to help much at all," Tony continued, "Still, it might be helpful, from an investigative sense, if we get a suspect."

"Thought as much." Gibbs was happy to see that Tony had covered all the main bases. "When we get back to the Yard I want you to contact the Maryland Transit Administration and find out which drivers were working routes 3, 11 and anything that runs along E Preston."

"That would be route 21, Gibbs." Tony apparently decided to remind Gibbs that he was a Baltimore detective, after all. "I'm surprised you got MTA Maryland, right; a lot of out-of-towners think it's the Maryland Transportation Authority."

"And you can see about getting any footage from those traffic camera's along E Preston Street that you mentioned." Gibbs more or less ignored Tony's interruption.

"Yes, Boss," Tony relaxed back against the seat and closed his eyes; the very picture of a man at peace even with Gibbs driving.

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDG

"Abby, are you all right to drive us back to the yard?" Blair asked as the trio finally got back to the car, "I want to have a look over the VICAP printouts before I have to face Gibbs again."

"Sure." Abby happily took the keys while ignoring the glare that Jim was directing her way.

"Jim, play nice," Blair admonished as he climbed into the back seat. "You're not allowed to drive the car anyway."

"What?" Abby twisted in the front seat to look at Blair. "Why isn't Jim allowed to drive? A police officer not allowed to drive; isn't that a bit hinky?"

"I'm quite capable of driving, thank you very much." Jim sat shotgun as though he had a pole stuck up his back.

"Hey, man," Blair reached forward, ruffling what little hair there was on the top of Jim's head, "don't grind the teeth, or your next visit to the dentist is going to cost us a fortune. Anyway, Jim's allowed to drive, just not this car."

"Why?" Abby couldn't let a mystery like this go unanswered; particularly given the slightly pink tinge to Jim's cheeks.

"Let's say that Jim drives like your Boss and the Cascade PD won't cover the insurance if Jim's driving." Blair was smiling with delight given the fact that back home it was always Jim in the driver's seat, vehicle-wise anyway. It didn't matter that Blair had passed, with flying colors, all the defensive and offensive driving courses; in Jim's world, Jim drove. Thus, Blair took every opportunity to enjoy it when Jim was forced into the passenger seat by circumstances beyond his control.

"No one's going to know if I drove, Sandburg." Jim wasn't above trying to get Blair to let him drive, anyway.

"Suck it up, Ranger." Blair shut down the topic of conversation about who was driving by handing Abby a tape to insert into the cassette player. "Now, Jim, why don't you relax," Blair instructed as the sound of Peruvian pipes filled the car; a soft drum beat just discernable behind the melody.

Abby, eyes on the road and driving very sedately, was unintentionally assisting Blair. The smooth ride coupled with Blair's very melodic voice counter-pointed by the flutes and drums very quickly had Jim slipping into a mild trance.

"Wow," Abby whispered once it was apparent that Jim was out for the count, "I never would have expected someone so uptight to be into meditation, at all."

"Jim's been using his senses full bore today, and yesterday," Blair explained as he started reading the pages of printouts he'd brought with them, "and while it doesn't _look_ like hard work to the casual observer it's a major drain on his energy levels. One of the downsides of being a Sentinel is there is no such thing as a free lunch; in Jim's case that means processing all that information costs energy. So, either I shut him down or a migraine shuts him down."

"Let me guess," Abby could easily imagine how Jim and Blair had found out that little fact, "he kept going until he dropped?"

"Nope, he kept going way past the point when he should have dropped." Blair shuddered a bit as he remembered Jim and Benton hunting for the man who'd kidnapped Ray Kowalski, "Jim can't handle most normal meds, they screw up his senses and either don't work at all or work way too effectively. Unfortunately, we weren't in our normal jurisdiction either, and the hospital staff didn't approve of non-traditional medicine. Anyway, Jim had been hunting a serial killer," Blair wasn't going to out Ben and Ray, so he didn't mention their part in the tale, "and by the time the killer was finally caught Jim had been running full-bore for 24 hours."

"And?" Abby was sure there was more to the tale.

"Jim collapsed and was taken to Chicago General and doped up with Demerol, Metoclopramide, and Naproxen sodium before I got there. I've got his power of attorney but it's no use if you're stuck at the PD when your partner's being admitted. By the time we got it all sorted out and I was able to backtrack what had happened," Blair pulled a slight moue, "let's just say that discretion is now considered the better part of migraines. You can put Android Lust back on if you like; he won't wake now till I bring him out."

"Won't that make concentrating hard for you?" Abby loved her music but she knew of very few people who could work effectively with Android Lust blasting their eardrums.

"You'll probably have to poke me with a stick when we get back to the yard." Blair rummaged around in his backpack for a clean notebook and a couple of pens. "I used to have to set an alarm to remind me to go to sleep. Jim once commented you could set off a tactical nuke next to me when I'm concentrating and I'd probably ignore it. Makes fire-drills back at the PD fun; they actually have someone tasked to make sure I hear the alarm."

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDG

Abby had thought Blair had been joking when he'd commented that she'd need something like a tactical nuke to gain his attention; thought being the operative word. Abby pulled the Cascade detective's rental into the yard, yelling over Skold vs. KMFDM's Love Is Like, "We're here."

After successfully parking the vehicle Abby looked over her shoulder and saw Blair scribbling away, apparently totally oblivious to the world around him. Feeling a little foolish - after all head-slaps were Gibbs' thing - Abby finally resorted to a quick smack upside Blair's head, "We don't want to keep Bossman waiting," she commented as Blair shook his head. "You weren't kidding, were you?" Abby asked obliquely.

"I did warn you." Blair smiled in return. For some reason no one ever believed him when he told them how lost in thought he could get; even Jim had taken a while to learn that particular lesson.

"So, how about you wake Jim while I start getting the evidence logged?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Need any help?" Tony asked as he walked up to the sedan, Gibbs having ordered him to go down and help Abby and company process in any evidence.

"Ooohh, Bossman already got you jumping?" Abby cocked her head and threw a wicked grin Tony's way. "He'll have you trained in no time."

Tony, still not quite sure what to make of the goth scientist, said with all due gravity, "I'm no one's lap dog."

"But you'd like to be," Abby fired back; her motive: find out if this pretty boy was up to snuff. Abby had watched Gibbs run off more agents than any other person in the history of NCIS, with the possible exception of Mike Franks, but Gibbs couldn't keep going out solo. That Gibbs had brought Tony back the Yard warned Abby that Gibbs was planning on poaching DiNozzo right out from Baltimore's nose.

Blair, gently pulling Jim back out of the resting trance, happily listened to the by-play between Tony and Abby. They'd get along fine once they got over their initial animosity; the sparks were flying because at the core Tony and Abby were very similar people, staunch, loyal, and nearly as dangerous as a mother bear defending her cubs.

"Your lap's not big enough," Tony said with a smirk.

Abby, getting out of the driver's seat and heading to the truck where the evidence samples had been stored, sassed as Tony followed her, "Don't think it's my lap you want to crawl into." Before Tony could fire off any further comments Abby handed Tony all the evidence samples they'd collected, "Follow me then." Abby grabbed her crime scene kit and headed inside.

"Woof." Tony deliberately waited for Jim and Blair to join him before he followed Abby inside.

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDG

"Report!" The elevator door had hardly opened before Gibbs' was yelling across the bullpen.

"Give us a moment, Gibbs." Tony replied as he walked forward, drinks tray in hand, towards where Gibbs was impatiently waiting. "Abby suggested that we bring coffee," Tony held up the drink's tray for all to see, "though she asked me to pass on a message to you as well."

"Get on with it, DiNozzo."

"Polite, isn't he?" Tony commented back over his shoulder to where Jim and Blair were following him.

Jim and Blair, wisely, said nothing. Though silent, Blair still rolled his eyes; an action which caused Tony to grin all the more widely.

"Apparently you won't get any results unless she gets something called Caf-Pow."

The half-smirk that graced Gibbs' face told everyone present that he understood the message. "Conference room, now." Gibbs walked past Tony, grabbing the largest cup from the tray, and continued down the hall to the room they'd appropriated the day before.

"Boss wants us in conference." Tony grinned.

"So it seems." Blair smiled as he watched Jim follow Gibbs. "Nice view, isn't it?" Blair said as an aside to Tony.

"Very," Tony stood for a moment or three, with Blair, just appreciating the very fine view that Jim Ellison and Jethro Gibbs made as they walked away, "very nice."

"Come on, Tony, we'd better follow or they'll start the party without us."

Tony flashed a look at Blair, trying to work out whether or not the other man had intended the double-entendre.

Blair was the picture of innocence.

"You are dangerous, aren't you?" Tony had to ask as he finally walked towards the conference room.

"So good of you gentlemen to join us," Gibbs snapped when Tony and Blair walked into the conference room. "Now, what have we gained from this morning's outing?"

"I've got the list of driver's from the MTA that were on the roster for yesterday for routes 3, 11, and 21," Tony started off, "and I've started on the paperwork so we can get access to the bus cams, the traffic camera footage for E Preston Street and I'm waiting on the banks for a list of ATM's in the area that our perp might have walked past."

"Abby's got the samples we collected from Lovegood Street and we've got two good plaster casts of the killer's footprints plus a couple of other partials," Blair continued.

"Where are the casts from?" Tony interrupted.

"One's from inside Greenmount Cemetery and the other one is from Ensor Street," Blair explained.

"That's a bit far from our primary scene," Tony said, beginning to question the probative value of the prints.

Gibbs nodded at Blair, indicating he wanted further explanation as well.

"We can tie the killer to these prints through the casts we took yesterday," Blair began, making his case. "We've gotten the prints from East 22nd street and corner of St. Paul and East 20th from yesterday and there are characteristic in common with the Ensor Street print we took today which I'm certain will be backed up by Abby, or any other independent shoeprint expert." Blair pulled from his backpack an aerial map of the area around the crime scene. "The white dots are where we found partial shoe prints, the pink dots are complete single prints, left or right, and the red dots are where we found paired prints."

"So, in other words, unless we can prove that the shoeprints from yesterday belong to the killer we have nothing?" Tony asked, taking the defense view-point as they sorted through the evidence they had so far. "Those prints could belong to anyone, Blair. We only have your word for it that you saw the killer step where the first print was found. Think about it, even Richard Nixon should be able to cast sufficient doubt on their provenance of those foot-prints that no jury would convict based, solely, on that evidence."

"That's the problem with this killer. He is highly organized. The shoeprints really are of little probative value," Blair conceded, "but they are about the only physical evidence we have so far that we can use in an investigative sense."

"What else?" Gibbs pushed.

"The fact that it had rained the night before helps establish a timeline for the shoeprints," Blair had checked the weather reports the day before out of habit; this time the habit proved useful instead of just another point in his on-going Sentinel data collection exercises.

"Placing the killer at the scene," Jim stepped in, "we have partials we can lift from the coffee mugs found in the kitchen. There's some fibre evidence from where the killer jumped out the kitchen window and there's a partial palm print on a mortar. While the next piece isn't as strong as you'd like there's a manila folder that was probably carried to the scene by the killer as a prop. If we can get video of our man walking with a similar folder to the scene and later video of him without it. . ." Jim didn't need to continue as everyone on the room could join those dots.

"The bloodstains you mentioned?" Gibbs looked at Blair.

"Like the shoeprints, more excupulatory in nature than probative. We _know_ that the blood is from our killer but _knowing_ and proving are two very different things. That being said—"

"When I get this bastard into interrogation he doesn't need to know we can't prove it." Gibbs smiled ferally.

Tony and Jim shared a grin in response to Gibbs' less than subtle satisfaction. Blair just rolled his eyes and muttered something about _alpha-males_ and "they're all alike".

"Still, we've got to find this guy first." Tony's comment brought them all back to the here and now "So, who's on first?"

"Yes, he is," Blair quipped which caused Tony to roll his eyes and mouth in return _what's on second_, "but how about I finish up with these VICAP results while—"

"Ellison and I set up interviews with the drivers," Gibbs interrupted.

"And what'll I be doing, Boss?"

"Traffic cameras and ATM's." Gibbs motioned Jim and Tony to follow him back to the bullpen where there were desks with phone and computers available.

Blair ignored the sudden exodus from the room, though he was pleased to have all distractions removed as he settled in to continue reading through the VICAP printouts.

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDG

Gibbs finally leaned back and stretched shoulder blades that were aching after a couple of hours solid work tracking down bus drivers and organizing for them, as a group, to be bused to the yard tomorrow. Surveying his kingdom Gibbs was pleased to see Ellison also taking a stretch-break; the old Rangers versus Marines rivalry remaining strong. DiNozzo on the other hand looked as fresh as a daisy, leaning back and positively flirting with whoever was on the phone with him.

"You can get the footage burned to CD and couriered here?" DiNozzo was asking. "That would be fantastic, Sheila. No, I'm not married," Tony continued, bantering with Sheila. "Really? You sound—"

"Today, DiNozzo," Gibbs finally snapped, causing all eyes in the bullpen, with the exception of DiNozzo's, to turn in his direction.

"Hey, sorry about this, Sheila, but the Bossman in calling so I'll have to hang up." Tony politely ended the call before he looked up at Gibbs. "You do know that you catch more flies with honey, don't you?" Tony asked.

Gibbs just glared.

"Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted…" Tony started to explain totally, ignoring the shocked silence as evidently everyone present who knew, or knew of, Gibbs' reputation for chewing up and spitting out anyone who got in his way, waited for holy hell to break loose. "Sheila works for Baltimore City Council and, having received the necessary warrants, has kindly offered to copy the video feed for all the traffic cameras around E Preston, W Mount Royal, and N Charles, St Paul, as well as Penn station and the car park for us. She's express couriering them here, too. Given that it's outside her job description and the fact that she'll be pulling unpaid overtime just to get us that footage as soon as possible I thought it best to say thank you, nicely."

You could have heard a pin drop, though to be fair it was actually the sound of a rack of staples hitting the ground that broke the tension in the air. Anyone in the squad room who could conceive of a reason, no matter how trivial, to be elsewhere was suddenly vacating the area as though a bomb-warning had been issued. The Director of NCIS, Tom Morrow, standing on the mezzanine floor above, smiled as he watched people vacating the area; Gibbs had already spoken to him about the possibility of poaching the Baltimore detective and seeing the young man actually call Gibbs on his behavior convinced Morrow that the suggestion deserved serious consideration.

"All right, people," Tom didn't need to shout, "I'm sure you all have work that you could be doing. Gibbs, a word." Tom turned and walked back into his office.

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDG

"Sir." Gibbs didn't bother knocking.

Tom walked over to Gibbs, handing his lead agent a glass of bourbon, before he sat down on one of the office's couches, a nod of his head indicating Gibbs was to join him. "We're not having a repeat of Kyle Boone, I hope."

Gibbs had the good grace to look mildly abashed, "No, sir."

"Good." Tom smiled, wryly defusing the situation with his calm practical approach to dealing with Leroy Jethro Gibbs, "Now tell me more about DiNozzo."

"I had Chris pull his files from Baltimore. He's good, damn good."

"And not afraid of you either, Jethro." Tom relaxed back, sipping on his bourbon. "But if you keep treating him like that you may not be able to convince him to come and work for us."

"Noted." Gibbs swallowed the bourbon down fast. "I need to get back down to the bullpen."

"No, you don't. Let DiNozzo work a little without you looking over his shoulder," Tom suggested knowing full well that Gibbs had been watching DiNozzo closely since the two men had returned from Baltimore earlier.

"What, think he'll slack off when no one's watching, Tom?"

"No, I think he's the work smarter not harder type," Tom commented, "but he's also the new kid on the block. Let's see how he handles it."

Gibbs didn't quite roll his eyes at Tom's comments; he had too much respect for the Director to do that. Also, Gibbs couldn't quite fault Morrow's logic; Gibbs intended to poach DiNozzo away from Baltimore and that might cause a bit of a fuss among other agents who thought they should have a shot at the slots on the Major Case Response Team. That most of those agents hadn't bothered applying out of fear of Gibbs wouldn't stop them harassing DiNozzo out of spite.

"Sit a while, Jethro. You're likely to have more action than you can shake a stick at soon enough." With that comment Tom wandered back to his desk; managing the resources of NCIS sometimes required the Director take a hands on approach and Gibbs was a valued resource.

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDG

Jim smiled as he watched Tony work the same kind of arcane magic on the NCIS agents and clerks that Blair practiced at the Cascade PD. A bright smile from DiNozzo and suddenly it wasn't a problem for the clerk to go down to records and bring up a couple of files; an offer of coffee and another agent was showing Tony how to access the NCIS mainframe; and, the promise of a couple of tickets to the Baltimore Orioles versus Washington Nationals baseball game in two weeks time had the Office Manager requisitioning items left, right, and center for DiNozzo.

"You planning on staying here?" Jim finally asked as he watched DiNozzo figuratively nesting into the corner that diametrically opposed to Gibbs' desk.

"What?" Tony looked up, sounding somewhat confused.

"I don't know, DiNozzo, you look like your planning on staying a while." Jim grinned broadly; the grin brought on as a result of eavesdropping on the conversation taking place in the Director's office.

Tony looked around the bullpen; everywhere there were people working towards a common goal and no Bunka in sight. "It's a sweet set-up here, I'll admit that," Tony sighed, "but I'm so not Navy material. So, what's it like working with the Feds anyway? You're a senior detective, after all."

Jim nodded; too many stories floated about of the ubiquitous Feds swooping in and messing up a local operation. "Since Sandburg started tagging along it's been a blast." Jim smiled the sort of smile that suggested the Fedshad come off second, third, and fourth best in those encounters. "Speaking of Sandburg, I'd better see what he's up to."

"With me, then, Ellison," Gibbs stated as he started to come down the stairs; his trip was momentarily aborted as Gibbs took in the sight of DiNozzo and the corner desk DiNozzo was sitting at. "Did you buy out the department store, DiNozzo?"

"Nope, just got Ellen to get me a couple of supplies." Tony flashed a grin up at the NCIS agent. "Can't be much help without pen and paper."

Pen, paper, notebooks, manila folders, two phones, and what looked suspiciously like a mighty mouse stapler was not just pen and paper. "Comfortable, DiNozzo?"

"Perfectly, thank you."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and accepted defeat; Tony was quick on his feet, and it seemed, he was as quick with his wits as well.

"All right, then, finish up whatever you're doing and join us in the conference room." Gibbs continued on his way, apparently expecting Ellison to follow immediately.

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDG

Blair looked up as Gibbs and Jim walked into the conference room, "Cool, I was about to see if you'd join me." Blair smiled as he stood up and stretched his back and shoulder muscles.

"Found something?" Gibbs asked impatiently.

"Might be." Blair wandered over to the coffee machine and poured himself a fresh cup. "Is Tony joining us?" With Gibbs nodding an affirmative, Blair continued, "Rather than going over this twice how about we wait for Tony and call Abby and Ducky in?"

Gibbs wanted answers now but realized that Tony really should be in on any discussion and Ducky's vast knowledge of the human condition could only benefit them.

Before Gibbs had a chance to call down to autopsy, or the lab, Tony walked into the conference room with a grin that rivaled Blair's best. "I come bearing gifts," he said by way of an aside as he walked straight over to where Blair was and handed him a sheet of paper with something like fifty names on it.

"And this is?" Blair asked

"A list of all Navy and Marine personal whose lives have been touched, tragically, as a result of an EOD accident." Tony was practically vibrating with glee.

"How—" Gibbs blinked while his gut was standing up and taking notice.

"Did I get this?" Tony answered cheerfully, "It's amazing what a little sweet talk will get you." Tony was enjoying the moment to the fullest; the slightly stunned look on Gibbs' face said it all in terms of how impressed the NCIS agent was.

"Nice." Blair was already reaching for two of the case files that had been pulled as a result of his VICAP queries. "I think these two represent the earliest cases," Blair explained. "The first case is from 1999 and the second early 2000 though I still think there may be one earlier than the first case I've picked."

"That's earlier than the cases I'd tagged." Tony grabbed one of the files from Blair while Gibbs grabbed the second one. "What makes you think these are part of the group?"

The file Tony was looking as was surprisingly short on details: single gunshot wound to the head, no sign of forced entry, victim was alive when paramedics arrived on scene but was DOA when they reached Massachusetts General Hospital. Other notes included the fact that the victim had recently moved to Boston to take up a position senior position in Boston Dynamic, was well liked and was currently engaged to a history Professor at Boston University. In fact, the only similarity to their current investigation was the fact that the victim was a divorcee.

"It's not in the notes as it probably wasn't really considered important, but I did a quick search for information about the victim's previous husband; he had worked as an instructor at Parris Island but had recently transferred to clerical duties as a result of an injury he'd sustained while disarming a device that had been left on the grounds of Parris."

"So?" Gibbs could see that might be a connection but it didn't quite fit with the theory that Sandburg has espoused the day before.

"So, Gibbs, we have a skilled trainer leaving their post, and unfortunately, but coincidentally, being transferred to Boston. He may, or may not have taken the position because his former wife had also moved to the town but it could look like he'd left Parris to follow his wife rather than being reassigned because he could no longer teach."

"And this is significant because?"

"Because in late in October 1999 a board of enquiry handed down finding into staff shortages in the armed forces." Blair picked up another of the ubiquitous notebooks that seemed to have multiplied around the man and flipped passed a few pages. "Ah, here we are. The most critical finding was that the armed forces as a whole was having difficulty retaining highly trained staff, particularly in areas related to public safety such as EOD and security because the private sector was able to offer significantly better pay and conditions. Further, it was noted that pressures on family relationships seemed to be another contributing factor to staff retention."

"I don't see how that ties in with that December homicide though." Tony frowned. "The MO is rather different after all. The victim survived long enough for paramedics to make it on scene."

"That's part of why I think this, the December homicide, is the first or possibly the second of the homicides."

"First or second?" Gibbs' tone implied make up your mind.

"Of the case files I've looked over this is the _first_ but whether it is the actual first I can't say for sure. What I am certain of is that this case caused our killer to change from a single gunshot to double tapping."

"Shit!" Gibbs' was not happy.

"On the upside I am very certain that the BOE is our catalyst."

"And this helps us, how?" Tony chimed in, without looking up from the printout he held.

Blair flicked a glance at Tony. "Because," a smile was evident in Blair's tone, "it gives us a way of winnowing down this list you so kindly provided."

"By?" Gibbs was impatient to be doing something and it showed in his tone of voice.

"We can ignore anyone on this list where the incident date is later than 1999. Our killer was triggered near that time and has been killing since, so anyone whose incident occurred after that point, while they may harbor similar feelings, is unlikely to be our killer."

"So, how many does that leave?" Gibbs could run background checks with the best of them.

"Twenty five." Tony supplied the answer.

"Then let's get to it."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter fourteen

"Gibbs," Blair spoke as the NCIS agent turned to leave the room, "could you ask Ducky to come up before you leave?"

Gibbs stopped short at the door. The plan had been to ask Abby and Ducky to join them before Tony bounced in with his news. Now might be a good time to get everyone up to speed even if only because Abby could fast track some of the information searches they'd need. "I'll call in Abby as well."

Blair smiled at the apparent attempt to exert control but didn't say anything. Jim and Tony, also wisely remained silent.

Calls were made but there was little, or no time to digest the new information before Abby came bouncing into the conference room. "Hey, Bossman, where's my Caf-Pow?"

"Have you done anything to deserve it?" Gibbs deadpanned as he pressed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

Abby ignored the kiss and pirouetted on the spot until she was facing Gibbs; the glare in the young woman's eye was something to behold.

"Ooh, looks like somebody's in trouble," Tony stage-whispered to Blair, "I reminded Gibbs earlier that he was supposed to take Abby a Caf-Pow, whatever that is."

"Maybe he's getting a little forgetful in his old age," Blair stage-whispered back, "Jim's always forgetting things too."

"If you two are quite finished?" Gibbs turned his formidable gaze on the comedians in the back.

Tony and Blair shared a look that screamed _busted_ but neither man appeared cowed. Given that three sets of eyes were glaring at them: Gibbs', Abby's, and Jim's, it was quite a feat.

"I've pulled together a complete shoe-print for both left and right shoes." Abby started to enumerate all the things she'd done to deserve the yet-to-be-provided Caf-Pow. "I've identified the make and size of the shoes; they're Bates DuraShocks size 9 and while normally common enough, these shoes belong to someone in the Navy."

"And you can tell this by?" Tony looked up from where he was taking notes on everything Abby said.

"Bates has a contract with the Navy to supply boots and shoes; the tread mould is slightly different than the mould for their commercial range. Our killer was definitely wearing Navy boots," she added, with a smug grin.

"And," Gibbs prompted.

"Isn't that enough, bossman?" Abby sighed. "No, of course not. Did anyone tell you that you're greedy, Gibbs? I've also got a partial set of finger prints from one of the coffee cups and they don't match either Kirby or Williams."

"Abbs—"

Whatever comments Gibbs had been about to make were cut short as Ducky walked in. "Are you gentlemen going to eat at all this evening?"

"Evening?" Blair and Tony shared a look that was made all the more comical by the sound of stomachs rumbling in stereo.

"Boss!" Abby turned a glare at Gibbs. "Haven't you fed them yet?"

"We had lunch," Gibbs protested. But his argument was somewhat invalidated when his stomach also growled in sympathy.

"Lunch was seven hours ago, Jethro," Ducky commented before Abby could work up a head of steam. "I thought that was why you called?" Ducky continued with a stern look at Gibbs. Ducky was dressed as you'd expect for someone leaving at the end of a day's work - coat, hat, and briefcase all present. "I was going to ask if Blair and Jim would like to join me for dinner."

"Actually," Blair started collecting together a pile of notes, "that sounds like a great idea. You don't mind if I pick your brains while we're at it?"

"Why, certainly," Ducky smiled at his son, "I take it that's why Jethro called me up? So that you could pick my brains?"

"Busted," Gibbs admitted.

"Well then, I suggest we repair to somewhere to eat before those two young gentlemen collapse. As well as two somewhat geriatric individuals." Ducky nodded his head at Tony and Blair. Abby gave him the look. "Of course our resident tech wizard must come along. Alfredo's is rather used to strange dinner table conversation." Ducky mentioned the local Italian restaurant that was favored by many who worked at the Yard.

"Pizza," Tony sighed.

"Great pizza, and they make a tiramisu to die for." Abby pulled her cell out of her pocket and was dialing before anyone, even Gibbs, had a chance to object.

"You have a pizza restaurant on speed dial?" Jim grinned as he noticed that Alfredo's was number five on Abby's speed dial. "They must be good."

"A table for six, Marko, and warn Papa that we'll be needing extra tiramisu." Abby disconnected the call and turned to face Jim. "They're the best."

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGD

Alfredo's lived up to expectations; the atmosphere was light, the service quick and unobtrusive, and the food was tasty, plentiful, and passed Sentinel inspection. Tony had knocked off, by himself, an extra large sized sausage, pepperoni, extra cheese, leading to comments, and comparisons, about bottomless pits: Tony and Blair studiously ignoring all and sundry comments to concentrate on eating. Papa Freddo had led the group to a small dining room off to the side of the main restaurant when they'd arrived, which meant that the dinner table conversation was able to roam freely over the topics of death, destruction, and the more macabre cases that had been investigated by members of the group without disturbing the appetites of the other diners. In the end it was Jim and Blair who won the unspoken competition; a case involving twin assassins, a corpse in a wheelchair, and a feisty DA taking the prize. With coffee, and the promised tiramisu, being dispersed around the table the conversation drifted back, by unspoken mutual agreement, to the current case.

"So, where do we stand?" Gibbs tapped his glass once, gaining everyone's attention.

"I still haven't finished the preliminaries on all the evidence you bought back, Gibbs." Abby didn't look happy admitting that fact.

"Why not?" Gibbs wasn't too happy to hear that, either. Normally, given the relatively small number of items, Abby could be relied upon to have completed the preliminary investigation.

"Some of the samples I'm not touching until I have Jim down in the lab with me."

Gibbs turned to look at Ellison with a look that screamed _and why weren't you helping my forensic scientist?_

"Knock it off, Gibbs." Blair stepped into the fray. "Jim's found you evidence today that you wouldn't have but for him, but his concentration's shot. Some of those samples are going to be one-shots; one chance to get a result. I'm sure you don't want to lose any information, even if it won't be of probative value in court, just because Jim's tired."

"What's the use of collecting those samples then if they aren't of probative value?" Tony wasn't quite used to working this closely with forensics. Normally he sent samples down and results came back.

"Because while they may not be of probative value, they are still going to be of investigative value." Blair had been expecting he'd have to give the lecture on handling Sentinel-found evidence sooner or later so now seemed as good a time as any. "I'm sure you've had samples in the past that you've known are crucial to identifying, or excluding, possible perpetrators but for a variety of reasons cannot be used in court. We don't ignore them, but we can't afford to waste them either. In Jim's case this happens a lot more often than the norm mainly because Jim can find types of evidence that is considered too novel by the courts in general. Very much like the early days of DNA profiling."

"So…" Tony looked a little confused, after all DNA was now becoming almost standard; if you had biological fluids or materials–such as hair, bone or other tissue sample–that might show contact between victim and suspect you passed it on for DNA testing.

"Well, for instance, the fibers Jim found will hold the killers scent. Tomorrow, when Jim's rested, we'll get him to have a good sniff and fix that scent in his head. Later, when we interview possible suspects, Jim can compare their smell to that on the fibers."

"You can actually do that? Human scent detection?" Abby was nearly jumping up and down with glee at the possibilities.

"Jim can." Blair proudly gazed at his partner, "Better than a bloodhound, but we haven't published any results yet because it's not something that can be of general forensic use. I'm planning a paper on the use of scent as a forensic tool that might get the wider forensic community interested. Maybe, one day, human scent detection will be just another tool in the forensic scientist's toolbox but for the moment the only scent work accepted by the courts involves the drug dogs."

"But you do have some research, right?" Abby, with a history of publishing articles, cottoned on to the fact that Blair must already have researched the issue otherwise he wouldn't even be discussing it.

"Preliminary results only. The wine industry provided a basis for the thesis that people can distinguish unique scents, but extending identification of grape variety to human forensic work will require a lot more research."

"What use then is scent detection going to be in catching my killer?" Gibbs wasn't interested in esoteric research topics.

"Plenty." Blair flashed a grin at Jim, "Jim, here, has a perfect recall for scents, and while human scent detection is something that currently won't pass the _generally accepted by scientific community _test that is applied whenever a new or novel technique is utilized in court, it doesn't mean we can't use his ability to narrow our suspect pool—"

"Hey, back on target," Gibbs snapped as it was obvious to all and sundry that Abby and Blair could end up going on for hours about the possibilities inherent in a new tool.

Abby shot a pout at Gibbs. "Yes, Bossman. All the samples are logged in and if I can have Jim tomorrow morning—"

"You'll have him." Gibbs tone brooked no argument.

"And an extra large Caf-Pow?" Abby let loose with a poor lost puppy look at Gibbs.

"Yes, a large Caf-Pow," Gibbs grumbled though the tone indicated fondness rather than exasperation. Abby pouted some more. "OK, OK, extra large."

"Ducky," Blair turned to face the medical examiner while pulling a stack of manila folders out of the ever-present backpack, "would you mind having a look over these? I'm beginning to think we haven't found our first homicide yet." Blair indicated one folder, "I think this one might be the second or third of them. I'd like a fresh set of eyes have a look over the files though in case I missed something."

"Gladly, though I doubt you will have missed much," Ducky reassured as he took the offered pile and began to flip through the pages. Ducky seemed more than a little impressed at the amount of information Blair had been able to put together in such a short period of time. "What am I looking for?"

"I'd rather wait till you've looked those over, Ducky. I'd like your fresh opinions."

"Duck?" Gibbs looked at the pile of folders in dismay; no way was the ME going to be able to assess the content quickly.

"_Festina lente_, Gibbs."

"Gibbs." Blair pulled the NCIS agent's attention back to him. "We have one advantage here which makes _festina lente_ the right way to go about things. Our killer requires a specific set of circumstances. Without them he's not triggered to kill. Taking a little time now to get profile right isn't going to hurt. I don't think someone's going to die tonight if we don't have all the answers."

"But you don't _know_," Gibbs pushed.

"No, I don't, but my instinct says no."

"I'd trust Blair on this, Gibbs," Jim finally spoke up, "Now, how about we divide up the people on the list Tony provided, and while Ducky looks over Blair's notes, we do the backgrounds?"

"Who's running this investigation?" Gibbs' didn't look pleased but couldn't really fault Jim as the suggestion was one it was the logical next step. Gibbs looked even less pleased when Jim, Tony, and Abby all answered, "Blair!"

"Regardless of who is running the investigation I might suggest a good night's sleep is in order." Ducky spoke before Gibbs had a chance to react. "I'm not as young as I used to be, you know, though I do remember a time—"

"You're only as young as you feel, Duckman." Abby reached over and patted Ducky's arm, effectively heading off at the pass another long, though likely to be pointed in interesting direction, tale. "But I really do need to get some sleep and there's a comfy coffin with my name on it waiting at home."

_Coffin!_ Tony, Jim, and Blair didn't need to say anything as they shared between themselves similar looks of incredulity.

"Is it big enough for two?" Tony couldn't pass up the opportunity to tweak the gothically dressed scientist.

"Absolutely," Abby smiled back at the Baltimore detective, "though you won't be trying it out in the near future."

"What about the far future?" Tony's smile was just on the wrong side of salacious; a fact which earned him a quick clip over the ear.

"Focus. Back at the Yard at oh 600," Gibbs pulled out the NCIS credit card and went to pay the bill while the rest of the circus sorted itself out: Abby heading to her roadster; Ducky to the Morgan and home with a pile of folders; Blair and Jim back to the Westin, and Tony waiting for Gibbs to return so that he could spend another night at Casa Gibbs.

Ducky sat in the spacious downstairs parlor-come-office of his property in Reston, VA. A glass of Glenrothe's 32 Year Old-Single Malt Scotch sat, mostly ignored, on the sideboard as he flicked through the pile of folders Blair had handed him at Alfredo's. The ME smiled at the detailed and meticulous notes that had been written. Blair Sandburg, anthropologist, had long been admired by Ducky for his insightful work, now that insight was directed elsewhere but none the less still insightful. The kicker, however, remained that Blair Sandburg was also his son and so in reading these notes Ducky also had a chance to get to know the man behind that public face.

Having read through the case files once without ignoring the notations Blair had made to get a feel for the information contained therein, Ducky finally settled down to deeply read the files. Blair had annotated most of the files in purple; Ducky chose green as his annotation color.

Blair had provided an additional folder apart from the case files themselves; this folder contained an ordered list of the cases that Blair thought significant with the first case occurring November 5th 1999 in San Diego. What was worrying was the fact that Blair believed that case was not the first in the series, though it might have been the event that triggered an evolution in the killer's MO. If Blair was correct, then the earlier cases they had yet to identify would likely resemble this homicide. Further notes included the fact that Blair believed that they'd need to look closely at any unsolved homicides from San Diego with extra care given the city's role in Naval training over the years. The fact that the San Diego Naval Training Center had finally ceased all activity that year seemed significant. #1

Given what he knew of Blair Sandburg the forensic profiler, Ducky chose to accept Blair's assessment that these cases were all part of the overall series of homicides. Whereas Blair would have initially been reading the cases files as he came too him–effectively unordered–Ducky opted to read them in date order in an attempt to develop a feel for the evolving MO of their killer.

At first glance there was nothing in the case details for the November 5th homicide to indicate what it was that had caught Blair's eye and made him think this case was part of their serial. In this case the house had been broken into, there was some evidence of a struggle, and only single gunshot wound; almost a polar opposite of the killer's current MO. It was only on reading the case file a second time that Ducky spotted the detail that must have triggered Blair's radar: a notation that the victim had organized to take the day he'd been killed off to reorganize some personal details pertaining to his previous employment in the Navy. It seemed that John Kwan, ex-master sergeant, DI in EOD at San Diego NTC, had retired to be near his ailing ex-wife who had been recently diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. Blair had annotated the file with: _DI resigned 1998 mid-training as ex-wife was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Someone from Naval Personnel office? Why wasn't appointment angle followed up?_

Good questions, all, and Ducky couldn't find anything in the case notes that addressed those questions. Instead, additional information indicated the victim had survived the initial contact with their killer, but was later pronounce DOA on arrival at UC San Diego Emergency. A neighbor had heard the gunshot and had immediately called 911, which explained why the police and ambulance had arrived precipitously though not quickly enough to save John Kwan's life. The Uniform that had ridden in the bus with Kwan noted that the man had said nothing before being pronounced dead. _This is possibly the second or third homicide. This is the genesis homicide for the killer's subsequent pattern._ Ducky agreed with those notations.

Next in the pile was the first of the Boston homicides that Anthony had alluded to. Getting up and retrieving his scotch, Ducky spared a moment of two to consider the Baltimore homicide detective. Given Gibbs' obvious interest, at least to Ducky, in the young man, Ducky had taken the time to look up a bit about Anthony DiNozzo Junior; after all they were basically investigating a serial homicide on the strength of this man's gut. What Ducky had found was that Anthony changed jobs with frightening regularity, yet was highly successful during his tenure at each of the precincts he'd worked. The man was known for having an eye for detail and almost perfect recall, which possibly explained how he'd twigged to the current series; either way Anthony would be a good fit at NCIS.

Of the two Boston homicides that they had case files for, the first was rather light on details. The victim, female this time, Jean Turnky, had been shot twice in the head. She was a recent divorcee with an amicable relationship with her ex. She was newly arrived in Boston having moved there following her new fiancé and as a result had no local enemies, or even general associates that might have wished her dead living in the area. The Turnky homicide had eventually been put in the cold case pile as none of the usual suspects had panned out and there it remained. Boston PD could not be faulted though; the detective in charge had done his due diligence but between the change in MO and the fact that the Kwan and Turnky homicide had occurred in different jurisdictions, made connecting to two almost impossible. In point of fact the only similarity between the two, and that was discovered in hindsight, was the motivation appeared to remain constant; namely, according to Blair's notes in the side margins, _punishment for causing an armed forced trainer to resign their position_.

The second Boston homicide case file was more detailed but again remained unsolved. The victim, Maria Vengas, this time was a long time resident of Boston although she was planning on moving to Santa Fe with her fiancé. Like the Turnky homicide, Maria had an ex in the services. Maria's ex was also ruled out as a person of interest, though it was noted in follow up that Maria's ex ended up remaining in Boston since he'd apparently accepted a consulting position in Phoenix. The ex, an expert in military intelligence, was normally provided additional training in insurgent detection to special ops teams about to be sent into Afghanistan and Iran. The move to Phoenix would have ended that relationship with the Marine Corp.

Considering the Turnky and Vengas homicides punishment as a motivation made a lot of sense. Ducky agreed with Blair in that sexual need was not the driving force but at least there appeared to be a motive, however bizarre it might seem to them on the outside. The upside of determining the killer's motivation unfortunately led Ducky to a place he wasn't happy given his knowledge of Gibbs and the way Gibbs thought. Their killer wasn't striking at random and Gibbs would not want to risk another member of the armed Services suffering any form of loss if he could prevent it. Gibbs was going to suggest baiting a trap the moment the killer's motivation was made clear to him.

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGD

"You realize that Gibbs is going to offer himself up as bait?" Jim commented from the couch where he was watching the JAGs game on ESN while he'd listened to Blair outline what he thought the serial killer's motive was.

Blair, working at the notes-covered desk in their suite, glanced over at his partner with a look that communicated that he was fully aware of that fact.

"Just warning you," Jim got up and sauntered over to stand behind Blair; to stand really close behind Blair.

"Is that a gun in your pocket, Jim? Blair acknowledged as he leaned back into the hardness that was pressing into the back of his neck, "Or are you just horny?"

"Guess."

"Then in that case I'd better get me bullet proof jacket out otherwise I won't be safe working here," Blair sassed just before he was bodily lifted from the chair and dragged into the bedroom. "Jim—"

"The notes will still be there in the morning and don't think I didn't notice the tension headache you're developing," Jim ignored Blair's protests as dumped his lover in the middle of the king-sized bed.

"Damn over-protective Sentinels," Blair glared at Jim to no avail.

"I can think of two ways to rid you of that headache," Jim smiled sweetly as he started to peel off the pristine white button-down he was wearing. "One involves Tylenol and the other involves a full body massage; your choice, Chief." The grin Jim shot at Blair was entirely too smug as though there was only one choice; the fact that there really was only one choice didn't help.

Actually acknowledging the headache might have been a bad move Blair's part however as moments later the rest of his body decided to make its displeasure known, too. Stiff neck, aching shoulders, a twinge in the lower lumbar, all conspiring to remind Blair that he was no longer 25. Further, nearly two weeks without the time to fit in at least one yoga session was no longer a good idea either. Still, rather than say anything which would have given Jim reason to become even smugger, were it possible, Blair quickly stripped and positioned himself in the middle of the bed, face down with his head resting on crossed arms.

Jim watched as Blair stripped, savoring every moment. How Blair could make taking off a pair of shoes erotic was one of those secrets of the universe that man was never intended to understand but over the years Jim had developed something of a foot fetish; a fetish for Blair's feet in particular. Blair's feet, once the other man had finally rid himself of his socks, were compact and solid like Blair. The big toe on Blair's left foot was slightly bent, a lingering reminder of a chase gone bad that had resulted in a broken toe for Blair and a righteous shoot for Jim.

Blair, well aware of his partner's fixation, clenched and relaxed his feet a few times working the soreness out while enjoying the sight of Jim standing at the end of the bed with a raging erection pointed in his direction. With shoes and socks taken care of Blair began to peel off the layer, after layer, of clothing that covering his torso; regardless of the weather Blair was always careful to remain rugged up as he was prone to chest infections; the legacy of Alex Barnes and his drowning death. First to come off was a deep blue merino-wool jumper. The jumper one of his favorites as Jim often commented that the color really brought out the blue of his eyes; next off, a white button down, and finally a white Henley.

Jim's eyes happily followed the hem of the Henley as it rode up over tight abdominal muscles, across a chest covered with luxurious brown curls–and wasn't Jim glad Blair wasn't one to be ashamed of his body hair–and eventually up along a glorious neckline to eventually reveal Blair's Adam's apple just asking to be nibbled and that face that would have made Botticelli's angels weep.

Blair, never one to pass up a chance to be ogled, leaned back while stretching his arms up over his head. The crack of his shoulder blade's as Blair stretch was loud enough that Blair winced in sympathy with Jim who would have hears the sound echo though his senses. "Like what you see?"

"Yes," Jim licked his lips then flicked his gaze down at the trousers that Blair was still wearing. "Are those going anywhere soon?"

"If they weren't?" Blair liked playing with fire.

"Then I'd have to help them on their way," Jim leaned forward resting his palms on the end of the bed, a very predatory smile on his face.

Blair might have liked to play with fire but these were his favorite dress pants and, remembering what had happened the last time Jim had looked at him with level of intensity, discretion was definitely the better part of keeping his pants intact.

"Commando, I like it," Jim's grin got larger as Blair's pants hit the floor.

"Really, I never would have guessed." Blair finally lay down, spread out like a feast.

Jim spent a good few minutes just watching as pre-cum began to seep from the tip of Blair's erection. Licking his lips at the thought of tasting that nectar Jim leaned forward and flicked his tongue out like a snake to capture the bead of moisture. Smiling evilly Jim stood and while instructing Blair to turn over he went and retrieved the massage oil, and a couple of hot towels, from the en-suite.

Blair complied though his dick wasn't all that happy about being ignored; one lick was not enough to satisfy. Still, the simple act of stretching had illustrated how tied up on knots his back was and while Blair would have liked nothing more than to be nailed to the mattress he'd enjoy it even more after a _Jim special_ massage eased the tension out of his back.

Jim returned and draped warmed towels over Blair's legs and buttocks before he straddled his lover and poured almond oil over Blair's shoulder blades. Using slow, sensuous strokes, Jim began to work out the tension in Blair's shoulders. Using the highly sensitive pads of his finger tips Jim was able to identify the minutest locking of muscle or tendons in Blair's back; gentle pressure from talented thumbs slowly teasing out knots. As Blair relaxed further under his ministrations Jim added a sweeping strike of hands up along Blair's neck with his fingers splayed to comb through dark locks of hair.

"Keep that up and I'm going to fall asleep here," Blair murmured.

While getting Blair to sleep was the eventual endgame of Jim's current activity there were other more entertaining activities to be completed first. Leaning forward Jim began to nip and nibble at the nape of Blair's neck. Blair, arching his neck up and to the side exposed more of his neck to Jim's ministrations. An action Jim heartily approved of as it allowed easier access to one of Blair major hot-spots; the small area of skin behind the earlobe and the earlobe itself. Jim could happily spend hours just using his teeth and tongue to worry at large sapphire stud that adorned Blair's left ear. The stud–a present commemorating the first anniversary of their commitment never let Blair's ear–voluntarily at least; the staff at Cascade General Hospital even had it mentioned in their protocol sheets which unfortunately spoke of how often Blair and/or Jim ended up in the care of that group of professionals.

As Blair began to whimper Jim eased off on teasing the ear lobe. Settling back on his haunches, allowing his hardness to rest atop the towel that covered Blair's behind, Jim returned to massaging Blair's shoulders though he now extended his ministrations downward working the tension out of the muscles supporting ribs and spine. Judging Blair's back relaxed enough that the rest of the evenings activities would remain enjoyable rather than be ruined by an inadvertent spasm Jim peeled the now-cooling towel from Blair's buttocks.

"Gods," Jim sighed, "you are beautiful." If Blair had had the energy to turn his head he'd have seen a look of pure adoration on Jim's countenance as the Sentinel gazed at two mounds of perfection that protected a deep valley and a hidden treasure. Almost without the direction of conscious thought Jim's hands began to fondle and massage Blair's buttocks. Sliding his body downward between Blair's legs, Jim breathed deeply in the scent of musk and sex that was forming as pre-cum continued to leak from the erections of both men.

"I've got to taste you," Jim groaned, "Please, can I taste you."

"Yes, yes, yes," Blair started to whimper even louder as Jim finally pressed his face into cradle formed by buttocks and thighs to protect the anal entrance. Jim's tongue, of its own accord, darted forward to lick and probe the ring of muscle that was Blair's entrance. Tastes, earthy and dank exploded on Jim's tongue. The heady smell released causing Jim to push his tongue deeper into that recess. Wanting deeper access Jim used his hands to spread Blair's buttocks further apart while his thumbs, still coated with oil, were gentle pressed in passed firm muscle until seated down to the palms of Jim's hands. Jim's tongue followed and between tongue and thumbs Blair was slowly opened fully wide.

Blair, normally the most erudite of men, was being reduced to a puddle of incoherent goo as Jim probed Blair's anus with his thumbs and tongue, twisting, trusting, loosening the channel until Jim judged Blair ready to take his girth.

"Fuck me, Jim, fuck me now," Blair finally pleaded, "I'm so close, babe."

Needing no further encouragement, though still intending to hold out on instant gratification, Jim rose up in one smooth motion and positioned the crown of his penis on Blair's opening and then maddeningly sat perfectly still. The sight of his dick nestled in the cleft of Blair's butt was a major turn-on for the older man made all the more erotic because he could literally see the minute twitches his penis made as more blood flowed into the erectile tissue. Luckily, the heat from Blair skin where it touched the glans added enough to the sensory feast to prevent Jim falling into a zone-out.

Blair, his own cock–hot, heavy and trapped beneath him–tried to push back against Jim but the older man used his superior weight to advantage keeping Blair trapped beneath him. "Please," Blair whimpered when it became obvious that Jim intended to hold out as long as possible. "Fuck me, fill me, nail me, just F—"

One smooth thrust was all it took. Jim cried out in pleasure as first the glans, the sulcus and then his shaft proper penetrated the tight opening until he was buried balls deep in Blair. "So tight, so tight, gods," Jim almost screamed as he started pounding into his partner.

"Ahhhh," Blair, coherency lost in pleasure, pushed back, clenching his buttocks together, tightening his hold on Jim's cock as it brushed his prostate.

Hard, fast, deep; the two men momentarily settled into a rhythm before the overwhelming need to race to completion broke their control. Blair, trapped beneath his partner, screamed in ecstasy as combination of Jim buried deep and the rasp of fine cotton over his glans caused him to orgasm so deeply that he blacked out. Jim, the scent of Blair's semen as it pooled under his partner, thrust one final time riding out his orgasm before he collapsed on his partner; sated but unwilling to withdraw.

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGD

Gibbs wandered back into the dining room after paying the check to see Tony bagging up the left-over–what little there was of it– tiramisu. "Still hungry, DiNozzo?" Gibbs was trying to work out where the younger man could fit any more food given the sizeable meal they'd just eaten. Still, the view as Tony bent over the table to retrieve the half piece that Abby hadn't eaten was worth enjoying, "Have you got hollow legs?"

"Hey, you think looking this good is easy?" Tony turned–fingers in mouth as licked coffee and chocolate flavored cream from their tips–to face Gibbs, "It takes a lot of fuel to keep this precision machine going."

"Yeah, BS," Gibbs couldn't help but sass back enjoying a level of camaraderie that he hadn't noticed he'd missed. "Come on, early start tomorrow."

Gibbs headed out to where he'd parked assuming that Tony would follow; a mistake it seemed as rule #8 jumped up and bit him. When Tony hadn't appeared after 10 minutes Gibbs went looking for him, finding him in Alfredo's kitchen.

"Grazie, che è stato il migliore pizza che ho avuto in età," Tony was smiling at Papa Freddo, "E il tiramisù, brillante."#2

"Such a lovely boy," Mama Freddo intercepted Gibbs before he made a scene. "You will bring him back here, of course? Here, take some more home," Mama handed Gibbs an uncut tray of the dessert, "maybe you can fatten him up." With anyone else, and that included Abby, the gentle pat to the cheek would have resulted in Gibbs demomnstrating why he'd been feared in the corp, but upsetting Mama Freddo would have landed Gibbs in the Artic till hell froze over. Too many of his collegues, himself included, survived on Alfredo's when cases got to the point that getting home didn't happen.

"Sì, mamma, io lo riporterà,#3" Gibbs pressed a kiss to the woman's cheek before he turned and faced flirting Italian, "Now, DiNozzo." The tone brooked no arguement.

"Coming, Boss," DiNozzo smiled at the staff, again, before this time dutifully following Gibbs out to the car.

"So, what now?" Tony asked as he slid into the passenger seat and pre-emptively grabbed the panic handle–a good move given the rate that Gibbs peeled out into the traffic.

"Boat, burboun and basement." Gibbs' answer was sucinct and uninfomative.

"And?"

"Catching this son of a bitch."

"That I can get behind." Tony sat silent as he as he arrranged, and rearranged, the jigsaw puzzle of information in his head that they had so far. "What does killing the ex-spouses of ex-service personal get our killer? It doesn't make any sense."

"Did any of them re-up?" Gibbs swung the sedan into his driveway.

"Not that I noticed, but then there's almost nothing in the case files I read about the ex-spouces. I mean, we've only got Sandburg's word that they're important. The original investigating officers probably didn't see the need for much follow up once the alibis had checked out."

"Another thing to do tomorrow then." Gibbs led the way inside and after storing his weapon, and allowing Tony to place his peice in the weapon's safe as well, headed for the kitchen and, as Tony was starting to realize, the inevitable lure of another cup of coffee.

Will coffee brewed Tony took the oppurtunity to look around Gibbs' place. Last night they'd arrived back at Gobbs'so late that all Tony had seen so far was the guest room, the kitchen, lounge, bathroom and the head; even most of that had been cursory at best as Tony had collapsed after the shortest shower he'd had since Military school. "Hey, where's the TV?"

"In the basement."

"Okay, that explains the basement comment." Tony popped his head back intot he kitchen where Gibbs was pouring a cup of coffee so black that Tony almost felt in danger of being dragged into it's gravitational vortex. "Why is your TV in the basement?"

"Cause that's where the boat is."

"This I've got to see," Tony spun and headed down the short corridor to the door he assumed led down to the basement. Incredulous, Tony wasn't sure what shocked him more, the fact that it appeared Gibbs had a boat–or something that might eventually be a boat–in the basement or the vintage TV that sat in the middle of a large work bench. "That's not a TV," was all Tony could say when he finally found his voice.

"It's good enough for the weather channel and the news," Gibbs brushed passed Tony as he decended into his work area. Placing the now half-full coffee mug down next to said idiot box Gibbs grabbed a couple of mason jars, "Burboun?"

"Boat, burboun and basement, I get it." Tony took the offered jar and knocked back a hefty swallow, "Damn, it's like the bat-cave down here."

"So, does that make you Robin?" Gibbs grinned as he switched the TV on. The grin melted faster than an icecube in a blast furnace however as the late night headlines announced—

"And in breaking news sources inside the Baltimore police department say that they are close to making an arrest after viewing security footage provided by the MTA."

GDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGDGD

#1: I've taken a little liberty with San Diego Naval Training Center's closure to fit my story. The NTC actually closed 1997 but I need it open a bit longer for those who might pick up the faux pas.

#2: Thank you, that was the best pizza I've had in ages…And the tiramisu, brilliant.

#3: Yes, Mamma Freddo, I will bring him back


End file.
